


(strangle with the) Hands of Lust

by hereticalvision



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe – Victorian, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oscar Wilde Trials, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rentboys, Romance, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Smut, Victorian Attitudes, Voyeurism, future switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 92,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25400701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticalvision/pseuds/hereticalvision
Summary: In Victorian London, sodomy is a hanging offence. Harry knows the risk but he simply cannot stay away from Lord Malfoy's son.Modelled on Oscar Wilde and Bosie Douglas. COMPLETE!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 119
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bounding-Heart (Brief_and_Dreamy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brief_and_Dreamy/gifts).



> I started writing this fic in 2011 and abandoned it in 2014. Recently, a kind soul asked if I would consider reposting the old chapters here from LJ. I reread the fic for the first time in years and to my surprise, realised that I finally knew how to end it. So this WIP is now COMPLETE!
> 
> If this fic is new to you, the original warnings went like this: Ludicrous amounts of unprotected M/M sex (promise) and while most will be H/D, some will not. Infidelity - Harry is married to Ginny throughout and things just grow more complicated from there. Mostly post-canon shifted into the past but more AU than you might first think it is. There are some surprise pairings. 
> 
> I always warn for the Big Four but otherwise I do not warn for spoilers. If this worries you, please feel free to DM me with your questions.
> 
> If you read the original posts way back when, it's lovely to have you back! I re-edited the work to tighten the story and cut out some plotlines I couldn't remember the plan for so please do re-read.
> 
> All that remains is to thank my best beloved beta Fictionalist, who barely blinked when I dropped 200 pages of fic in her lap without warning. You are the best, now and always.

**Book One**  
  


_Each man kills the thing he loves…_

_Some strangle with the hands of Lust,  
Some with the hands of Gold:  
The kindest use a knife, because  
The dead so soon grow cold._

_  
-Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol_

  
  
  


_HMP Pentonville, Summer 1852_

  
Harry hadn't slept in days and it wasn't just because of the hard stone beneath his body or the awkward angle the chains kept him twisted into. His mind was racing, imagining everything that might happen – to him, to his family. The only clamour louder than the fear of what was coming was the self-recrimination over what had already been done. Harry leaned his head back against the stone which dripped with the condensation of dozens of bodies sweating and breathing in the same space, and wondered for the thousandth time if he could have fought harder, if he could have resisted. If he could have refused Draco.  
  
He shifted on the hard floor.  
  
Even without a wand, it would have been relatively simple to escape had he the will. Malfoy would want him to think of everything he had lost.

And he had lost so much to Draco, who had given him such passion and brought him to ruination.  
  
  


_Spring 1851_

  
  
The carriage jerked slightly as the horses negotiated the corner onto Oxford Street, the sunlight on the brisk spring day illuminating the elegant facades of Grosvenor Square. Inside the carriage, Harry kissed his wife's temple gently. "You see? We've arrived in London. We'll be there soon."  
  
"At last," said Ginny, rubbing her swollen stomach. "I seriously doubt the wisdom of this custom. Two full days in a carriage is far from comfortable at the best of times, never mind…" She indicated her belly and shifted her weight, pulling away from Harry to gaze out of the window.

"I know," Harry sighed. "But you know other means are unsafe for you in this delicate condition." The possibility of an error in the Floo existed, no matter how many safeguards were in place, and no one wanted to imagine what would happen should an expectant mother splinch herself.  
  
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "As though I have not heard the same from every Healer, every relative, every… everyone! Everyone has an opinion," she said, glaring at Harry as though he were responsible for all the evils of the world. "I _have_ done this twice before, you know." Her voice grew sharper with every word.  
  
Harry reached out and took her hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. Usually that would be enough to calm Ginny at least a little but this time her spine stayed defiantly stiff.  
  
Harry looked out of the window. "Perhaps the railway will extend to Godric's Hollow soon."  
  
Harry wasn't particularly enjoying the journey to London himself. Mercifully James and Albus had slept most of the way; Harry doubted his long-term ability to contain their natural exuberance in such a small space.  
  
He wondered idly if Ginny would give him another son this time, or if she would instead give birth to the daughter she so longed for. Names had already been discussed for both contingencies but not finalised for a girl: a boy would be Sirius for Harry’s godfather, to whose London residence they now travelled.  
  
As Sirius had never married, Harry was heir to the Black title and fortune – which brought both freedom and responsibilities. Harry had had the importance of "going to town" for the birth of a child drummed into his head but had had to work hard to convince Ginny this time; she would much rather have gone to her mother at the Burrow. Harry had understood, but convention dictated their actions in this case and Ginny had rather sullenly agreed. Where her previous pregnancies had given her a glow, this most recent seemed instead to have sapped the vitality from her completely and Harry was ashamed to admit that he was looking forward to her confinement, allowing him some time with Sirius.  
  
Harry had barely begun to think of his godfather before the carriage pulled to a stop outside his residence at Grimmauld Place. Most unconventionally it was Sirius himself who flung open the door, his long-suffering house-elf Dobby at his heels, muttering to himself about how it wasn't proper for Master Sirius to open his own doors.  
  
"Harry!" Sirius cried. "Ginny! Wonderful to see you."  
  
Sirius, Lord Black, had raised Harry for most of his childhood, and it was with pleasure that Harry now greeted him.  
  
"Sirius," Ginny returned, smiling. She was obviously tired; even with Harry's assistance she stumbled a little as she stepped down from the carriage.  
  
"My dear, you are exhausted. Come on, in you go, nothing to be ashamed of."  
  
Ginny flushed a little, it not being at all the done thing to refer to her condition even obliquely, but she followed Dobby inside willingly enough even as Harry woke his sons.  
  
Sirius had employed a nanny for the duration of their stay, a Scots girl named Morag MacDougal. It was with no considerable relief that Harry left James and Albus, now fully awake, in her care and closed the door to Sirius' study.  
  
"Brandy? I think you need it, my boy!" Sirius said, giving that barking laugh of his.  
  
Harry grinned reluctantly. "Sirius, you'll never change." The sight of Sirius in his study, the dark wood and oriental carpet always made Harry feel at ease. He supposed it was what he associated with _home_ in the way most people would regard their parents. It was in here that Sirius had explained all manner of things to Harry as his father would have. The talk on the rights of a husband had been particularly memorable.  
  
Sirius' own grin was unrepentant. "I should hope not indeed. Well, here's to you," he said, handing Harry a glass. "Third child coming soon, Harry. You're doing well."  
  
"Ginny does most of the hard work," Harry objected.  
  
"But I'd wager she makes it just as hard on you." Seeing Harry grow still, Sirius went on, "All women do, from what I understand."  
  
"You have found this in your wealth of experience as a husband?" Harry could not resist asking.  
  
Sirius made a face. "We're not all made for family life. Sit down, sit down."  
  
"Thank you, no," Harry said, grimacing. "I have been sitting for the better part of two days."  
  
"Indeed the journey is long. Your wife needs her rest, I think?"  
  
Harry looked down at his brandy, rotated it around the glass. "This one has been hard on her."  
  
Sirius nodded. "I could tell. She did not look herself at all."  
  
"As you say." Harry took a long drink of his brandy. The action did not go unnoticed.  
  
"Has it been causing problems?" Sirius asked sympathetically.  
  
Harry never knew how to handle Sirius on the rare occasions when he became serious about something. "I would rather not—"  
  
Sirius held up his palms, "Fine, fine." He seemed a little relieved. "Well, let's see, all the preparations here are in place. Morag's a fine girl for the boys, and I have engaged a Madam Pomfrey to act as Healer."  
  
"Lucky you have room enough for them all. I can't thank you enough."  
  
Sirius waved Harry's thanks away. "What else would I do with my money but take care of family?"  
  
"Squander it in gaming hells?"  
  
Sirius snorted. "I assure you, those days are far behind me. It's all dining with respectable families these days. Puts me in mind – while I know your wife needs her rest, it does put rather a spoke in the wheel. I had accepted an invitation to a gathering this evening. Thought Ginny could do with a bit of society before being shut away for months."  
  
Harry ruffled his always-messy hair. "I doubt she will be up to it, though the thought is kind." The thought was typically Sirius – well-intentioned but utterly inappropriate.  
  
Sirius nodded. "Well, I shall have to attend of course – and it would be terribly poor if I were not to bring any guests after having Mrs Bones extend the invitation."  
  
Harry sighed. "Very well, I shall ask Ginny, and when she says no I will accompany you."  
  
"Capital!" Sirius beamed. "It's decided!"  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Ginny had already taken a sleeping draught by the time Harry went to check on her, so he need not have braced himself for her displeasure at going out without her. Ginny had been fractious recently, which was not at all like her, and Harry found himself hoping against hope that it was merely the effect of pregnancy.  
  
He did not mention anything of the kind to Sirius. Remus, who had been married himself, he could have spoken to but Remus was not due to visit town again for many months. Harry wondered if he could bring himself to put such thoughts into writing. It had been some time since he had received a letter from Remus, now that he thought on it. He said as much to Sirius on joining him in the parlour.  
  
"Remus? He is a school master now!" Sirius said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gone back to Hogwarts of all places!"  
  
"He was good," Harry said, remembering. "I liked having him there. But the restrictions against werewolves…"  
  
"There weren't many left able to teach," Sirius said. He was jovial so often that on the rare occasions when he was serious, it sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Most of the Aurors dead, almost all of the Order dead. He is chained up like an animal at the full moon, but he is useful to them so they let him be."  
  
Harry swallowed. "It is hard to know whether that is a desirable state of living."  
  
Sirius' lip curled upward, baring his teeth. "We are all war heroes and he is still on the fringes of society."  
  
"It is not fair," Harry acknowledged.  
  
With visible effort, Sirius turned his thoughts away from his dear friend and gave Harry a piercing gaze. "You know there will still be a great deal of interest in you. Many people will wish to meet the famous slayer of Dark Wizards, Harry Potter."  
  
Harry sighed. "Which is precisely why I avoid town when I can. I infinitely prefer a quiet life."  
  
"You always did," Sirius sniffed. "Much more like your mother than like James in that respect."  
  
Harry always loved to hear such titbits about his parents, but he wished Sirius would not always sound so disappointed when Harry did not perfectly mirror James.  
  
"In any case," Sirius went on, "we should be going. Arrival times are precisely worked out, you know. You remember the Floo address?"  
  
"Bones Estate, Sirius, it is not too taxing," Harry replied dryly.  
  
"Then after you!" Sirius said with a sweeping gesture.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, but he went, green powder in hand. At the other end, a butler was waiting to greet him with a "Good evening, sir!" and Harry passed him his cloak and top hat, privately thinking how ridiculous it was to wear such things just to take a Floo journey.  
  
Sirius appeared right behind him, and, having also divested himself of his outer garments, they followed the butler to be announced, waiting at the entrance to a room almost the size of Harry's entire home at Godric's Hollow, with an enormous fireplace at one end, elaborate chandeliers sending rainbows of light down to the marble floors… Harry barely knew where to look at the display of such opulence.  
  
Sirius quirked a smile at Harry. "Ostentatious, don't you think?"  
  
Harry smothered a laugh as the announcer cried, "Lord Sirius Black and Harry Potter Esquire!"  
  
At once a hush fell over the previously bustling room before the conversation picked up promptly at twice the previous volume and speed. Harry prayed that he would do nothing to embarrass himself as he and Sirius proceeded to where Mr and Mrs Bones waited to greet them, both well-dressed but to look at them definitely people with preoccupations other than fashion.  
  
"Sirius," Mrs Bones said warmly. "And Mr Potter, of course. How do you do?"  
  
"How do you do?" Harry returned politely. "So kind of you to include my wife and I in your invitation. Unfortunately she is much tired from the journey."  
  
"I quite understand. Sirius does not think of these things," she said with a reprimanding look at the man in question.  
  
A woman about Harry's age looked around from behind Mr Bones; Harry dimly remembered her as their daughter, Susan. Ginny wrote to her from time to time, so Harry made a point of speaking to her now.  
  
"Miss Bones, good to see you again," he said.  
  
"Thank you, Mr Potter," she returned a little impishly.  
  
Harry smiled at her and proceeded into the gathered throng. Many of Sirius's old acquaintances were present. Some he greeted with pleasure and some with mere politeness. But Harry did not see Sirius's jaw actually clench until the arrival of, "Lord Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, Lady Malfoy, and Lord Draco Malfoy!"  
  
Sirius' back immediately went rigid and Harry turned to look at the people who had elicited such a reaction. His view was obscured by the people between him and the entryway, but he could see Lord Malfoy clearly enough – a tall, older man with unfashionably long hair and extremely fashionable and expensive robes. His wife was also blonde and wore pale blue; Harry could not see the third member of the party from where he stood.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry said, trying to remember. "The name is familiar."

Sirius grimaced. "The woman is my cousin Narcissa. Extremely apt, no woman ever loved herself so much. Remember, I warned you her son would be in your year at Hogwarts. Her husband…" But then another man came to speak with Sirius and press his embarrassing thanks on Harry, and Sirius forced himself to return to his better manners.  
  
Harry glanced over to the Malfoys a few times more. He had known Sirius all his life; the man had virtually no contact with any of his family. Harry had met his cousin Andromeda and her husband on several occasions as a young boy but AFTER Ted’s death, his attention had all been for little Teddy. It seemed incredible now to think that there was a great swathe of Sirius' family of whom he knew next to nothing.

  
As Harry moved to turn away, his attention was caught by a stranger who had evidently caught him looking. A man about his own age, blond and lithe, was looking at him as one might look at a plate before eating from it. Discomfited, Harry looked away.  
  
"I am so sorry, Mr Lynch, I find myself unused to such large gatherings," Harry said in response to the man's expectant expression. "I find myself so easily distracted by the noise and the crowd."  
  
Sirius' hand on Harry's back reminded him, _do not appear a country bumpkin!_ but Mr Lynch merely smiled. "Of course, it takes time to adjust whenever one spends long periods outside London."  
  
"When one is tired of London one is tired of life," an unfamiliar drawl interjected. "Or so Samuel Johnson said, and who would argue with so prolific a man, despite his being a Muggle?"  
  
Harry looked at the speaker instinctively. It was the man he'd seen before who'd caught him staring at the Malfoys. Had he crossed the room just to speak with Harry? From a distance he had appeared handsome; this close he was oddly beautiful. His was not a conventional beauty, the angles of his face much too sharp for that, but he exuded a certain magnetism and he was staring right into Harry's eyes.  
  
"Lord Draco, may I present Mr Potter. Harry, Lord Draco," Sirius said without inflection.  
  
Harry always knew how he was expected to react to an introduction by the tone in which Sirius delivered it. On this occasion the tone and expression clearly spoke of a man too influential to be given the cut direct, but nonetheless not someone whose acquaintance could be considered desirable.  
  
Yet Harry could not look away from the face in front of him. Lord Draco seemed to shine in the lamplight, all pale skin and pale hair and pale eyes. Harry dimly registered that he should have looked washed out but instead he appeared radiant with some inner light. His lips, pouting and pink, belonged on the face of the world's finest courtesan, not the son of a nobleman. Harry felt as though he had been struck by a Bludger. Confused by his reaction, he felt his face begin to flush.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius had to prompt him.  
  
The knowing look on Lord Draco's face sent Harry into a panic; he could barely bring himself to shake the man's gloved hand.  
  
Grey eyes smirked at him. "But of course, Mr Potter. I remember you from school."  
  
"Indeed?" Harry swallowed. "I believe you must be much changed."  
  
"Well, of course I was in Slytherin house," Lord Draco said. "We did not often fraternise with the other houses."  
  
"Quite." Harry remembered him now. He had been thin and sarcastic and had taunted other students; Harry had not developed friendships with such people.

Lord Draco smirked again and Harry found himself distracted from his thoughts by watching those lips curve into different shapes. He shook his head to clear it, perturbed by his abstraction.  
  
"In any case," Lord Draco went on, reaching into a pocket, "here is my card. It is never too late to form an acquaintance. Good evening to you, Mr Potter. Lord Black."  
  
The rest of the evening passed in something of a blur, Malfoy's card burning a hole in Harry's pocket where it lay nestled against his pocket watch. Harry met admirers and renewed old acquaintances as best he could, but he could feel those smirking eyes on him every time he moved.  
  
At last they were making their goodbyes and returning through the Floo to Grimmauld Place. Standing back in the parlour, Harry felt as though he could breathe again for the first time that night.  
  
Sirius offered him a nightcap and the two moved to his study. Harry knew Sirius had something on his mind; as usual it did not take his godfather long to voice it.  
  
"Harry," said Sirius hesitantly, "do you not remember Lord Draco's father? He was in the Inner Circle."  
  
Harry nodded, his stomach flipping as old memories came alive. "A staunch supporter of the Dark Arts. Pleaded Imperius to avoid Azkaban."  
  
Sirius nodded. "The Boneses only receive him because he retained his place on the Wizengamot. His family is among the darkest. The Ministry have been trying for years to confiscate their library of dark texts but somehow the Aurors are never able to find it when they search."  
  
Harry absorbed this. "His son is like him?"  
  
Sirius shook his head. "Lord Malfoy is corrupt, cunning, ruthless and smart. His son is but a wastrel. He runs up gaming debts and abuses everyone around him. He is not a person I would wish to see developing influence over you." There was a definite edge to Sirius' voice.

Startled, Harry protested, "You believe me so easily persuaded?"  
  
"I believe young Malfoy to be trouble," Sirius said flatly. "If you are wise you will not allow him the opportunity to prove it."  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
As it happened, Harry did not have time to dwell on the disturbing spectre of Lord Draco just then; his brother-in-law and old friend Ron Weasley had come to town. Harry had been eagerly anticipating the visit, certain that Ginny would enjoy the company of Ron's wife Hermione, a dear friend to both of them. He felt a little sorry for Morag, to whom the task of looking after their baby daughter Rose in addition to the boys would fall; Hermione could never bear to leave her daughter behind when they travelled.  
  
Ron looked well, the warm sun beginning to paint even more freckles on his face. Hermione's hair kept escaping from its elegant knot and Ron kept reaching out to straighten it for her the way he had in school. Harry's chest ached a little at the easy affection between them. It had been that way once for him and Ginny.  
  
Nonetheless, when Ron reached out a large hand to grasp his, Harry could not help but return his friend's grin. "Harry. Good to see you, mate."  
  
"And you," Harry replied honestly. He turned to Hermione and kissed her cheek. "Dear Hermione, how have you been?"  
  
Hermione snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "There's _still_ talk of segregating the sexes at Hogwarts if you can believe such a thing. The Founders were of both sexes, I tell the board, they have placed more than adequate protections in place. Magic is the best chaperone, is it not? This is merely a reaction to the work of so many to ensure equal rights for women. Of course, witches can sit on the Wizengamot but you recall the outcry at the appointment of Artemisia Lufkin to Minister?" Harry had drawn breath to concede that he knew what she meant but before he could she continued, "That was fifty years ago and there has been no other woman in that office since! First it will be segregation, then it will be exclusion and then it will be as if we were Muggles and left to receive no formal educati0n at all!"

Harry caught Ron's eye and for a moment they agreed perfectly: Hermione without a cause was a Hermione neither could imagine.  
  
"I should stop letting you spend time with Mrs Taylor," Ron said, his tone belying the idea that he could control Hermione in the slightest. She and Ginny both had always been strong-minded which was part of why Harry held them in such high esteem.  
  
"Mrs Taylor is a radical?" Harry asked, hiding a smile.  
  
Hermione snorted again. "If you can consider equal rights for women anything but the commonest sense!"  
  
"I always defer to your opinions in such matters," Harry said, causing Ron and Hermione both to laugh. He smiled back, glad that they were there, then began urging them into the house. Ron grinned at Dobby, who grinned back. Most people walked right past their house elves but Dobby had always been different. The other house-elf, Kreacher, tended to skulk around muttering to himself all the time.  
  
Ron and Hermione stayed for four days. Most of Hermione's time was spent with Ginny, whom Ron had visited briefly. Despite the affection between brother and sister, Ron was not terribly good with women at times like these and was extremely relieved to leave Ginny to his wife and spend the days in the drawing room with Harry. Dinner each evening was a livelier affair than Harry had enjoyed for many weeks, and that evening Ginny even managed a glimmer of her old vivacity.  
  
There was, however, one awkward moment at the dinner table when Ginny mentioned Harry's visit to the Bones. Considering the frosty silence which had met word of his going, she was quite nonchalant when she mentioned, "Harry visited the Bones last week and saw Susan there."  
  
"Ah yes," said Ron. "I think I remember her."  
  
"We write," Ginny said, smiling. "Not as often these days. She is still unmarried but she rather prefers it that way I think."  
  
"Well, a husband is a terrible nuisance after all," Hermione interjected, with a sly look towards Ron.  
  
Ron and Harry both made noises of objection in their throats while Ginny laughed.  
  
To change the subject, Ron asked Harry, "Was there anyone else from school there?"  
  
Pale skin and pale eyes flashed before him. Harry hesitated. "Terry Boot, though I didn't have much chance to speak with him."  
  
Ron shrugged, "Never knew him very well. No one else?"  
  
"Not that I can recall," Harry said, his throat tightening. He would wonder later why he had lied.  
  
Ron and Hermione left via Floo on Thursday morning and, sorry to see them go, Harry contrived to spend the afternoon at Diagon Alley. Madame Pomfrey required various potions and ingredients, and while she had offered to go, Harry had insisted that she remain with Ginny, glad of the excuse to be away from the house while Sirius was out and only his wife was at home.  
  
Harry flushed when he realised what he had been thinking, and told himself sternly, _it's because she was enjoying the visit._ And then, because he knew that to be false, _it will be better after the baby is born._  
  
_What if it isn't?_ some part of him wanted to know and Harry felt his mouth twist into an unhappy shape. The chiming of the clock brought him back to the present and gratefully he reached for the Floo powder.  
  
Diagon Alley seemed quite busy this day. Harry had rarely come in spring, and the clean, warm air was a pleasant change from the filth of the Muggle streets. The chatter of shoppers going about their business made Harry smile. He did not spend enough time here.  
  
The Apothecary was one of the first shops after the Leaky Cauldron so Harry made sure to visit there first. Madam Pomfrey had given him a written list, and it was merely a case of handing over the list and the Galleons. He smiled at the boy behind the counter and turned to leave. It was then that he heard a drawling voice so familiar it might have been that of his dearest love despite his only having heard it the once before.  
  
"Well, well. Good day, Mr Potter."  
  
"Good day, Lord Draco," Harry managed. Lord Draco's voice had curled its way down his spine like an intimate caress even as the sight of him hit Harry in precisely the same way as it had that first time. He was wearing gold today, Harry noticed. Pale gold silks which somehow brought a certain richness to his pale colouring. Harry's eyes moved over him rapidly, taking in golden hair, golden cloth, sharp cheekbones. Harry was reacting like a man lost in the desert for forty days to whom Lord Draco was cool, clear water and he felt his jaw tense. What was the _matter_ with him?  
  
"Oh, please," Lord Draco said with a bright smile that sent unease spiralling through Harry all over again, warring with the odd warmth his presence had elicited. "All my old school chums call me Malfoy." At that he reached out and shook Harry's hand.  
  
They had shaken hands once before, in the middle of a room full of people, both of them wearing black leather gloves. This time, Harry had taken his off to place the potion phials within his tincture box and Lord Draco wasn't wearing his, either.  
  
Their skin made contact for the first time. Lord Draco's fingers were long and cool, long enough to curve around Harry's whole palm so that the tips grazed his wrist. Harry gulped involuntarily, looking at the wicked curve of Malfoy's mouth as he ran his fingers gently over the pulse point, once, twice. Awareness flared, so very strange and yet familiar as though some previously unknown part of himself was awakening. He raised startled green eyes to amused grey, but couldn't quite manage look into such a knowing gaze for long. He dropped his eyes again and stood, content to hold on forever just feeling Malfoy's fingers begin to warm against his, gazing at Malfoy's mouth all the while. Harry licked his lips as his own mouth suddenly went dry; Malfoy's gaze dropped to watch the action and Harry's nerve gave out. He yanked his hand away and took a step back, rattled. That was not how two men touched one another.  
  
"Right," Harry said, as though it made any sense in the context of what had happened. "Er," he forced out another syllable. It made Lord Draco's expression turn positively sardonic. "Good to see you again, Malfoy."  
  
"Your tune has changed in recent years," said a silky voice suddenly from behind Malfoy. Harry had not even noticed that there was anyone else there: Malfoy had seemed to demand all the focus Harry was capable of giving.  
  
The woman had a face like a pug and masses of dark hair. She might have been pretty but for the scowl on her face.  
  
Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Pansy, please."  
  
The shock of a lady’s presence after the soft delight of finding Lord Draco was like an abrupt soaking in ice water. The pleasant, drugging sensation he had been experiencing quite vanished and Harry felt a frisson run though him of disaster narrowly averted. He had the perfect excuse to leave now as he and the lady were not acquainted, and Draco had not seen fit to begin introductions.  
  
"Forgive me, I have several business matters to attend to this day. A pleasure to see you again, Lord Draco," Harry said tipping his hat, turning to the lady to repeat the gesture silently. He was aware that he was essentially running away. He didn't know how he dared do otherwise.  
  
Confused and shaking, Harry stood a moment, taking long deep breaths to collect himself. He wondered if Malfoy would look out after him and forced himself to walk away. Whatever that had been, Harry was in no rush to repeat it.  
  
The next shop but one was Quality Quidditch Supplies and Harry gratefully stepped inside. He had not played much in recent years, but the place always brought back some of Harry's more pleasant childhood memories and it was a pleasure to sink in once again to the smell of leather, the feeling of hard wood, the tense excitement of a game reaching its climax. It was a rare luxury to have time here alone, and Harry took his time browsing the newest model brooms and leafing through photographs of the latest team line-ups.

  
"Looking for pictures of the Holyhead Harpies are you, sir?" said the boy behind the counter. There was something oddly insolent in his tone, but when Harry looked up the face seemed over-friendly, if anything.  
  
"They are my wife's favourite team," Harry told him. Perhaps some little present for Ginny would help resurrect the easing in her temper that Ron and Hermione's visit had seen.  
  
"Oh, the wife, is it?" the boy said, winking. "So you're not here for our special products?"  
  
Harry looked at him askance. "I don't believe I understand."  
  
The boy tilted his head to one side. "For a discerning customer, we have certain choice images that might not be appropriate for just anyone, if you take my meaning."  
  
Harry might be a little slow on the uptake sometimes but he was not stupid. "I told you, they are my wife's team," he said coldly. "I do not believe that would be at all appropriate."  
  
The boy's face fell. "Sorry, guv. Just thought…"  
  
"I don't need to hear what you thought," Harry snapped. He grabbed a team shot of the Harpies, and did the same for Puddlemere United. "Just these, thank you."  
  
The boy looked at him, then back at the pictures. "I see. Oliver Wood for you then, is it?" A nasty tone had replaced the previous joviality.  
  
Harry hated to be rude but the boy had made him so angry that all he could force out was, "Take the money, if you please."  
  
The summary defiling of his childhood haven had left Harry with a bad taste in his mouth. He had planned to visit Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour before returning home but now desired only the quiet and solitude of Sirius's study.  
  
Harry made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. There was a queue of people waiting at the fireplace, chatting and showing off their purchases. Harry, impatient, walked around them and beyond, out into Charing Cross Road. He shook himself slightly and turned to walk to Covent Garden when he thought he saw a flash of gold from the corner of his eye.  
  
That gold, that distinctive glowing gold, could have been nothing but Malfoy's robes, and even as Harry chastised himself, he was turning to look again.  
  
Lord Draco Malfoy was walking up to the darkest corner of the alley. Harry frowned, his vision adjusting to the gloom. He could just make out a figure pressed against the wall, Malfoy leaning and pressing his long fingers on the front of the crotch. Harry's eyes widened as his vision grew clearer – it was a _boy_ , a _boy_ Malfoy had pinned against the wall in an alley, a _boy_ whose body Malfoy was caressing, one hand on the boy's face the other on his… on his cock. Harry wondered wildly where the woman Pansy had gone, how Malfoy could be so blatant as to be pawing a boy in the street as though it were the most natural thing in the world.  
  
The boy's hat came askew as Malfoy pushed him harder against the wall. He was smiling, they were both smiling, and then Malfoy lowered his head to the boy's and flicked his tongue over the boy's lips.  
  
Harry turned and ran.  
  
  


~o0o~

  
That night Harry woke after a mere two hours of sleep, driven to waking by rich, strange dreams. He had been lying next to Ginny in that hotel they had visited after they were married, laughing and touching in the first discovery of the marriage bed. Harry had felt so in love then, so happy. But in the dream he looked up as he ran his hands over his wife's skin to find Malfoy watching from the corner. When his eyes met Harry's he ran his tongue over his lower lip and smiled, contemptuous and arrogant.

Harry tried to dismiss the image from his mind as he roused himself. His bed was empty, his wife sleeping in the confinement bed already, and he neither missed her nor found himself enjoying the space. His stomach felt unsettled, as though some gnawing fear plagued him. He kept thinking of the dream and of Sirius's words: _Malfoy is trouble_.  
  
The thought of Malfoy now brought a flush to Harry's skin. All he could see was that pink fleshy tongue flicking over the boy's plump lips, teasing and wanton, slick with saliva. He turned away from it, rising from bed and with a _Lumos!_ stepped into the corridor.  
  
Ginny, Morag and the children were on the uppermost floors, while Sirius and Harry were on the second. Harry considered going up to look at his children to banish this strangeness but found himself instead descending the stairs, heading for the drawing room.  
  
He did not know why until he found himself looking at the Black family tree. Without meaning to, Harry located Draco Malfoy and ran his fingers over the name and face, which smirked with almost as much fire as the subject. Harry traced the curve of those lips and remembered how watching them had made him feel, first that night at the Bones' when he had merely looked and wondered and then today in Diagon Alley, the sight of Malfoy's tongue knocking the breath from Harry's body. Something long-suppressed abruptly flared into life, dancing on Harry's skin, making him ache to experience the delights that mouth might yield. He wished he had been that boy in that filthy alley, with Malfoy's tongue in his mouth and hands on his body.  
  
The image his mind produced at such a thought was sufficiently graphic that he jerked his hand away from the picture, taking deep breaths to calm his pulse. He glanced again at the ever-smirking face on the family tree and knew what it was Lord Draco had caused him to feel. The idea was at once grotesquely alien and horrifyingly familiar: something dark and immoral beckoned and told him it already knew his name.  
  
Harry had rarely been afraid during the war. He was afraid now.  
  
He did not dare name the perversion that had come upon him, this curling tendril of something _other_ spreading through him. It was enough to know that it was there, and it was dangerous, and Sirius was right.  
  
Better by far if he never saw Malfoy again.


	2. Chapter 2

"I've tickets for the opera tonight!" Sirius announced without warning one evening.  
  
Harry looked up. He had spent the day with Sirius looking into the finances of the Black estate and had not anticipated an evening excursion.  
  
"Mozart's _Don Giovanni_ ," Sirius went on. "A tragic story."  
  
"Most operas are," Harry said. “I did not know that you cared for such things.”

“Ever since the Ministry arranged performances open only to wizards under the guise of a private-member club, it has become quite the place to be seen. And we could all use a little more culture.”

He blinked a few times. "I don't know, Sirius, this has been a most tiring day and…"  
  
"And you're afraid of your wife," Sirius finished for him. "That's all well and good - and no doubt exactly as God intended - but see here, Ginny has been abed for days now and you're pining."  
  
Harry bit his lip. It wasn't missing his wife that troubled him, that caused him to toss and turn and wake each morning hard and horrified. Every time he spoke with Ginny she had some new minor ailment to complain of; Harry was not unsympathetic but it made conversation one-sided at best.  
  
If it were anything else he could talk to someone – Sirius was not always his first choice, but there was Remus or Ron or Hermione. But he had no idea how to tell any of them the lurid things that filled his mind now any more than he could speak to them of the melancholy which gripped him seemingly at random, robbing him of his will to socialise and, in extremis, his appetite and his ease in sleeping.

There were some strange blanks in Harry's fantasies. He wasn't sure what two men would do together. he knew that it was Malfoy's face he saw before him most every night. In the dreams, Malfoy had replaced Ginny in that hotel bed and Harry ran his hands over acres of pale chest instead of freckled curves.

It was so senseless, that was the thing that shocked him. He had never been unfaithful to Ginny, barely even felt tempted and suddenly this terrible lust had come upon him unannounced and unwanted.

A memory of an incident whose significance Harry had long denied rose now from the dark recesses of his mind to taunt him; he shoved it away violently. _I have never been unfaithful to Ginny,_ he reminded himself, wondering why it now felt so hollow.  
  
Sirius was still looking at him, expectant.

Perhaps distraction would be just the thing. He had barely left the house in a week and while it had meant a great deal of time with James and Albus, it had nonetheless felt claustrophobic.  
  
"Very well," Harry said, which was how he found himself in the Black opera box not two hours later.  
  
The opera was not one with which he was familiar and though he did not speak Italian, the translation charm kept him abreast of the story. Don Giovanni murders the father of a woman he had sought to seduce, and she and her fiancé swear revenge. Meanwhile, a woman Don Giovanni rejected tries to induce him to renounce his wicked life, protecting him out of misplaced affection.  
  
Applauding for the end of the first act, Sirius shook his head. "Operas would not exist if it weren't for the messes people make of their lives. The characters never choose someone suitable." For a single man, he sounded rather complacent on this point.  
  
"Perhaps it is a reminder that love cannot be chosen," Harry said without thinking.  
  
Sirius laughed. "You do not think you chose Ginny? Your best friend's sister, part of a family you so dearly loved? No, Harry," Sirius said, slapping him on the back. "You chose wisely indeed."  
  
Harry shifted, uncomfortable at the way Sirius made his love for Ginny sound. It was not a convenience, never had been. In fact it had been quite the opposite at times. Harry opened his mouth to object when he looked for the first time to the box directly opposite theirs and saw Lord Draco Malfoy.  
  
Harry swallowed. It had been far too optimistic of him to think he could enjoy an evening out without running into the man. Wizarding society was a small community and everyone went to the same places to be seen.

Malfoy looked well this evening, dressed in black robes, white shirt and an emerald green waistcoat. The very sight of him made Harry's entire body run hot.  
  
Malfoy was lounging in his chair in a most louche manner, laughing at something one of his companions had said. Harry recognised neither of them: one was a stringy looking man with a strangely rabbit-like appearance, the other was an attractive man with dark skin and a haughty expression. Harry looked away from their box almost at once but he could not resist sneaking looks throughout the interval or indeed during the second half of the performance.  
  
Malfoy seemed to genuinely enjoy the opera. Harry could not really follow it, his attention all for the side of Malfoy's face illuminated by the stage light.  
  
Harry thought himself unnoticed until, during a particularly lovely aria, Malfoy shifted in his seat and looked over at him. That ever-present smirk was on his lips and he raised his eyebrow just enough that Harry registered the change.  
  
He turned his attention back to the stage at once, focusing on Elvira's pleas with Don Giovanni, a man who did not deserve such devotion. He risked one glance back over at Malfoy a minute or so later – Malfoy was no longer even facing the stage but rather blatantly staring back at him. Harry forced his eyes back to the performance and did not look again.  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
"And how was the opera?" Ginny asked, a thread of tension in her voice.  
  
"Charming," Harry said, though he had been utterly unable to follow the latter half of the performance. Sirius had suggested attending a gentleman's club but Harry didn't dare; he knew instinctively that Malfoy would be there, either by design or by reason of the terrible misfortune which had caused them to meet in the first place. He insisted on going home to check on his family, leaving Sirius to spend the evening gambling his money away alone. Harry had checked on his sons before selecting a book on which he could not concentrate, to provide himself with the illusion that he was not thinking of Malfoy.  
  
Harry could still see him, the rich green of his waistcoat lending a depth to his slate-grey eyes, their colouring startling even at distance. This was insane, he _had_ to overcome this madness. He had to.  
  
"I did not think you enjoyed the tragedies," Ginny opined, her tone a little peevish. She shifted in her bed and Harry reached for her hand again.  
  
"I prefer stories with happier endings," Harry said. "The stories we tell the children are like that."  
  
"Not all," Ginny said. "But you're right; stories for adults tend to have unhappy endings." Her hazel eyes were miles away.  
  
"They don't have to," Harry said fiercely. Ginny looked up at him, startled. Whatever she saw in his face caused her expression to soften.  
  
"Darling," she said, an endearment she used but rarely, "we already have our happiness, do we not?"  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
It took another week for Sirius to wear Harry down to agreeing to attend a quiet soiree, and another week again to induce him to attend the gentlemen's club Sirius favoured. Ginny grew closer and closer to giving birth every day and Harry should have been spending his time thinking of his soon-to-come son or daughter. Instead the dreams grew stronger – Malfoy's eyes, his lips, his skin. Pale, slender limbs welcomed him into the darkness whenever he closed his eyes: Malfoy stretched out on the bed before him, _for_ him, for Harry to touch and explore as he chose.  
  
The frustration grew in Harry until he feared he would be able to bear it no longer. Some of his friends – Seamus Finnegan for example, an excellent friend but a man with an essentially pragmatic nature – would routinely make use of professional services during periods such as these, when their wives were unavailable, but Harry had never done so. He had been caught up in anticipating the child's birth. Never before had he felt himself so lost to reason. Caught on a knife's edge between lust and horror, one morning he finally gave in to onanism as the least of the available evils and brought his hand to his cock.  
  
The pressure of his hand around his member made Harry gasp and his hips jerked to thrust into his hand before he could stop it. It felt so good, too good, to lie back and touch himself, thinking of that mouth, that luminous skin. At first Harry tried to keep images of Ginny at the forefront of his mind as though he could ameliorate this sin, but hazel eyes kept turning grey, red hair to blond. Harry tightened his hand around the head of his cock and imagined Malfoy's fingers on him the way they had been on the boy in the alley. He came immediately, all over his hand, with a shock of disgust hard on the heels of the pleasure.  
  
Harry had thought he might feel better after taking such an action – and indeed he did, but not for very long. His imagination was still running wild. He had never been very good at disciplining his thoughts, always behind in Occlumency lessons. Harry knew who he was, knew his flaws and now his habit of running on pure instinct was threatening to cost him dearly.  
  
He tried working off the excess energy through exercise, attending fencing practice regularly. But then one day the dark-skinned man with whom he had seen Malfoy talking at the opera appeared – Zamboni, was it? – and Harry did not dare go back.  
  
Meanwhile Sirius kept giving him curious glances and asking if he were well. The whole situation was intolerable.  
  
"Are you sure you will not accompany me?" Sirius said for what felt like the hundredth time. "You have seemed quite out of sorts for weeks."  
  
Harry wanted to tell him that he did not dare. He feared himself, he feared what he might do if he were to encounter Malfoy again. And yet, could he really allow himself to be held hostage to his fears?  
  
"What would you have us do?" Harry said with a sigh.  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
Sirius took Harry to a gentleman's club for brandy, cigars and cards. Sirius had taught Harry himself, though Harry had never developed quite the same love of such games. Sirius was winning a game of whist and Harry had declined the invitation to join as one of the four; instead he wandered around, saying hello to old school mates and guests he'd met at the Bones' party. He accepted a large drink and nursed it quietly.  
  
There were many rooms in the club, most filled with card players, another with men talking. Harry followed the soft sound of piano music to a room at the end of the corridor. A man was singing there, a German aria. Harry took a place by the door, opting to allow the music to fill his senses in lieu of trying to make conversation. The air in here was cleaner and Harry breathed it gratefully. His brandy was empty; another seamlessly took its place and Harry drank that too, his nerves steadying. He had thought earlier that he had caught sight of that other friend of Malfoy's, the stringy looking fellow, but he had not seen him since. He was relieved to think he might have been mistaken.  
  
Harry had been quite lulled into relaxing when danger found him again.  
  
"Do you find all this as tedious as I?"  
  
Harry started at the voice and turned; while he had stopped paying attention, Malfoy had appeared behind him. He was all in emerald green tonight and Harry's breath caught at the jewel brightness of him. His heart began to pump faster, alarm filling him, yet the longer he looked at Malfoy the less urgent escape seemed to become. Instead that insidious effect Malfoy had on his senses began to take hold, far more intoxicating than brandy – Harry swallowed the last of his in a gulp, looking away from Malfoy for a brief second before unerringly fixing his eyes on that mouth again, a compass finding true north.  
  
"You are quite right," Malfoy went on as though they had been conversing. "Do you think perhaps we might find other amusement?"  
  
The words curled around Harry in unmistakable invitation, the heat of Malfoy's breath on his face turning Harry hot all over. He looked up to see gleaming grey eyes, challenging and defiant, daring him to action.  
  
Harry knew instinctively that if he were to follow where Malfoy would lead, his life would never be the same. It would be far, far safer to decline politely, return home, kiss his wife's forehead and know himself forever as a man who had denied what he wanted not from any righteousness, but because he was a coward.

  
"Do you?" Malfoy repeated, eyes glittering, his body's heat mere inches from Harry.  
  
Ginny, Sirius, better judgement – all thoughts of anything but this moment flew from Harry's head. "Yes," he breathed and Malfoy smiled.  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
Harry was confused at being led out onto the street to a carriage rather than to the fireplace through which they had arrived. "We will not travel by Floo?"  
  
"Indeed not," Malfoy said, holding open the door for Harry to climb inside. "We are not going to a place connected with our world." He looked to the hulking form of his driver. "The usual place, Goyle," he commanded as he entered the carriage.  
  
"Yes sir," Goyle replied, and with a crack of the whip they were away.  
  
In the small space of the carriage, Harry found himself uncertain again. Malfoy sprawled on the seat opposite him with a smirk playing around his mouth. He seemed disinclined to offer conversation and so Harry spent the journey alternating between staring at him and desperately fidgeting with his hands to keep himself from doing something unpardonable. His skin crawled with the tension and he closed his eyes a moment and thought about raising his wand and Apparating back to Ginny.  
  
"We're here," Malfoy announced, abruptly rousing Harry from his thoughts as the carriage bounced to a halt. In mere moments Malfoy was out of the carriage and rapping on an unmarked door. Harry looked around nervously as he clambered out. He did not know this part of London, and the dark shadows and stares of the passers-by were making his skin crawl. The cobblestones were filthy, the archways threatening. Harry wished he had had more to drink.  
  
The door opened. An unhealthily thin, rodent-faced man stood there dressed in a suit he clearly believed to be fine, but looked far, far cheaper than anything either of his guests would have considered. "My lord!" the man said. "Come again – and with a friend. Do enter."  
  
"Mr Filch, always a pleasure," Malfoy said, entering the door. Harry swallowed hard, and when he looked up into expectant grey eyes, forced himself to follow.

  
"We do so appreciate your patronage, sir," Filch said, bowing slightly. Harry's gaze flickered around the entry hall, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the badly-constructed furnishings. The effect was that of affected bourgeois. Harry had never considered himself an elitist but something about this place made him more uneasy even than the street outside.  
  
He followed Malfoy through the foyer into what seemed to be a parlour done in a shoddy attempt at the fashionable style for Greek Revival. The parlour was up a staircase and through a long corridor, and there were almost a dozen young men inside in various states of dishabille, sipping on green drinks and smoking fit to fill the entire room with heavy fog. Filch walked in behind them and closed the door even as the boys variously greeted Malfoy, some as "my lord" and some with mere nods. It was clear that Malfoy knew all of them.  
  
There was some undercurrent here that unsettled Harry still further. He felt as though he had been glued in place by the door but Malfoy stepped right in to his admirers, reaching out a hand to one in particular. The boy smiled up at him with something terribly coquettish in his expression and Harry realised with a surge of nausea that he was looking at the boy Malfoy had been touching in the alley. Now, Malfoy smiled as though genuinely pleased to see him and ran a casual hand through the boy's hair. He turned to Harry and as he did so, the way he touched the boy seemed to change, turning from possessive to inclusive.  
  
"This is Bertram," Malfoy said, stroking the boy's cheek. "He is delightful."  
  
Harry looked at the boys and looked back at Malfoy. His stomach lurched. "You brought me to a bawd-house? You brought me to invert whores?" He had _known_ , he realised even as he said it, just as he had known he wanted Malfoy before he had been able to accept it. He had known where he was and he had not wanted to face it.  
  
The boy Bertram made a hissing sound from between his teeth; Malfoy quelled him with a raised eyebrow and turned back to Harry. There was a speculative silence.  
  
In three abrupt strides Malfoy had crossed the room, walking so close that Harry could smell his breath, full of mead, and the faint scent of soap emanating from his warm skin. "Do you think I don't know why you came with me, Potter?" he said, leaning even closer, far too close for comfort. "Do you think me too naïve to see what you make so clear?"  
  
Malfoy was right in his face now and when his tongue darted out to moisten his lips it was scant inches away from Harry's own mouth. Harry was desperate to look away but somehow could not bring himself to do so, his whole being reduced to watching that motion of glistening tongue slide over sensual lips. Malfoy leaned even closer, his slight height advantage forcing him to bend to whisper into Harry's ear, " _This is how it begins._ "  
  
Harry flushed as Malfoy pulled away from him; the boys tittered. Malfoy's eyes glittered in triumph even as he turned to Filch, a bag of coins appearing from nowhere. "A room, Bertram for me and, oh, let's say, Kirke for my friend here. He has a taste for blond boys it seems."  
  
Harry flushed again as a boy he could only assume was Kirke stepped forward with a sly smile. Another titter ran around the room. Harry felt himself flush.  
  
"Very good, my lord," Filch was saying. "The chamber on the left is free." He began shooing the boys from the antechamber: Malfoy caught Bertram by the cravat and dragged him through the door.  
  
"Coming, sir?" Kirke asked, his voice neutral but a twist of something Harry couldn't identify to his face.  
  
Harry's fists were clenched so tight he feared his knuckles might snap, but he followed.  
  
Once inside the red and gold room, Malfoy removed his cloak and handed it to Bertram to hang for him. Harry, completely out of his depth followed suit, handing his own cloak and hat to Kirke before looking around. The décor was just as ugly here, but the room was wider. Two chaise-longues were positioned carefully opposite one another; Malfoy took a seat on one. Harry had rather expected a bed, but there was nothing of the kind, just the two chaises, a fireplace and a thick-looking rug on the floor.  
  
Mimicking Malfoy again, Harry sat. Malfoy spared Harry a sly smile as he undid his cravat and pulled off his waistcoat, discarding them on the floor behind him. Bertram returned to Malfoy as Harry fidgeted; Malfoy smiled as Bertram stepped between his legs and slid a hand down Malfoy's chest, casually parting his shirt to reveal his pale chest. Bertram had his back to Harry but Harry could still see him snake his hand lower, rubbing the heel of it over Malfoy's manhood, his fingers curling further back and beneath as Malfoy spread his legs wider.  
  
Harry swallowed.  
  
Kirke had come back. He knelt down in front of Harry and reached out to touch him; Harry shied away. Kirke frowned and reached for him again; this time Harry caught his hand.  
  
"I don't know what to do," he said, embarrassed. Embarrassed for himself, for having Malfoy see him in this state, for Kirke who was little more than a slave to rich men's desires. This was humiliating, all wrong, nothing like he had imagined. He had never wished to see Malfoy on the other side of the room with another man pulling at his perfect clothes.  
  
"Watch for a while then," Malfoy told him blithely. Bertram threw a look over his shoulder before he fell to his knees in front of Malfoy, sliding his hands up those thighs to pull down Malfoy's trousers. His erect cock emerged and Harry swallowed hard at the sight. Malfoy chuckled and Harry squirmed again at realising that Malfoy had been watching his reaction.  
  
"Please, do watch," Malfoy said as Bertram leaned forward and took Malfoy's cock in his hand, guiding it to his mouth. Malfoy's eyes grew lazy, pleased. Obscene wet slurping sounds filled the air as Bertram worked Malfoy's cock. Harry writhed, uncomfortable as his trousers grew tighter.  
  
Malfoy let out a deep groan and his fingers tangled in Bertram's hair. Bertram seemed to respond by doing something Malfoy liked even more, causing him to throw back his head. The motion exposed miles of Malfoy's exquisite throat from which he let out a whimper, his hips jerking forward to thrust into Bertram's mouth.  
  
Harry didn't know where to look. He couldn't pull his eyes away from Draco – he kept drinking in the sight of him, his throat, chest, thighs. Harry was so _hard_ now and it had happened quite without him realising it. Watching Malfoy had taken him from shame to lust faster than he could possibly have imagined.  
  
"Let me," said Kirke. Harry nearly started – he had forgotten that Kirke was even there. But now the boy reached for Harry's cock, rubbing it through the fabric and Harry could resist his arousal no longer. He had instinctively reached to stop Kirke, but his hand fell limply back onto the chaise. Malfoy was gasping now, Bertram's head bobbing up and down faster. All that skin on display, all that chest, the shoulder where the shirt had fallen away. Sculpted collar bones cast shadows into the hollows they created. Malfoy was perspiring and the fine sheen of sweat made Harry itch to run his tongue over that skin, collect all that evidence of desire and keep it for himself.  
  
Kirke had freed Harry's cock from his trousers. Where Bertram had licked and teased, Kirke leaned forward and in one motion swallowed Harry's cock to the root. Harry's hip jerked and he gave a small cry, catching Malfoy's attention. Harry's hands curled into fists at his sides as he forced himself to concentrate on the exquisite sensation of a willing mouth on his body, something he had never dared ask his proper wife to do. He forced himself to look Malfoy in the eyes as desire overcame them both. Harry was panting, Malfoy moaning. He took in all the details of Malfoy's body and desperately ignored the realities of what they were doing there. Then, in another moment, he no longer had to wish away the world.  
  
Kirke was very talented at what he did, there was no sense denying it. Harry's hips were jerking involuntarily and Kirke was meeting every thrust Harry made, taking him deeper and deeper. Bertram's fingers snaked up Malfoy's body to pinch his nipple and with that Malfoy cried out and shuddered, Bertram's choking making it clear that Malfoy had found release. With that, Harry could hold back no longer and, closing his eyes, he emptied himself into Kirke's willing mouth.  
  
When Harry came back to himself, Kirke was wiping his lips and Malfoy was looking at him with that terrible knowledge in his face.  
  
"Looks like there might be something of the invert to you after all," Malfoy said, and he was smirking and his cock, now flaccid, was still exposed, and Bertram was smothering a laugh and Kirke was kneeling at Harry's feet with come still on his mouth and Harry thought the shame of it all would burn him alive.  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
Harry was still trembling a little as they left the building, Malfoy joking with the renters all the way out. Harry pulled his cloak about him tight as Malfoy bid the boys farewell; he did not speak.  
  
"You might at least say goodbye to the boy who sucked your plug-tail," Malfoy remarked as they stepped back out into the street.  
  
Harry felt as if he had been struck dumb, the curious horror of the evening overwhelming. Malfoy turned to him, flicked his eyes up and down Harry's body. "What's wrong with you?"  
  
Harry pressed his knuckles to his mouth. "I betrayed my wife," he said and the words made her real again. Ginny, vibrant and fiery and full of joy. Ginny who grounded and centred him. Ginny who had given him children. He swallowed hard against the rising bile in his throat.  
  
Malfoy made an impatient noise. "I told you I knew why you came," Malfoy said, fanning out his fingers to idly check his manicure. "And you knew, too. Wasn't this what you wanted?"  
  
"No. I didn't," Harry tried, "I didn't want—." He jerked his gaze away and forced himself to choke down the rising horror. "I should never have come here with you."  
  
Malfoy pursed his lips. "Get into the carriage, Potter." Harry opened his mouth to argue but Malfoy forestalled him, "This is a public street. Get into the carriage."  
  
Wordlessly, Harry did as he was bid.  
  
Malfoy climbed in after him, closing the door and issuing a sharp, "Drive on!" The carriage lurched into motion. Harry could not bring himself to look at Malfoy now, and stared blindly out into the gas-lit streets until abruptly the blind was pulled down in front of him.  
  
He turned to Malfoy sharply. "What-?" But he was unable to finish his question since, as soon as privacy was ensured, Malfoy was on him, body pressed against his, lips frantic against his own. Harry reached out in blind shock as Malfoy eagerly pressed himself closer. Harry would have expected the rattling of the carriage to make maintaining the contact difficult, but Malfoy was on top of him now, pinning him down to the seat. Malfoy kissed the corner of his mouth, his top lip, pinched his lower between sharp teeth. That last made Harry gasp and Malfoy took full advantage of Harry's open mouth, sliding that tongue over Harry's lips, making him moan and open his mouth further. All the disgust at the turn the evening had taken slipped away as Malfoy's tongue licked over Harry's lips each in turn before sliding between them to touch the tip of Harry's own tongue. This was nothing like Kirke, nothing like watching – this was Malfoy wanting Harry back. This was exactly right.  
  
The hands Harry had raised automatically to steady Malfoy had somehow become entangled in his cloak; Harry held handfuls of Malfoy's clothing and really wished for nothing more than to have it fade away and find the freedom to run his hands over the flat planes of Malfoy's chest. For now he explored the heretofore undiscovered country of Malfoy's back as the kiss went on and deepened, Harry now meeting every thrust of Malfoy's tongue with his own, following it back into Malfoy's mouth when it had the temerity to retreat. Malfoy's hands moved from the back of the carriage to Harry's shoulders; Harry's mouth moved to do what he had longed to before and charted the length of Malfoy's long, beautiful throat.  
  
There was no talking, no thinking now. Just Malfoy, his skin, his scent driving Harry to distraction. Their bodies slid into a rhythm together almost unbidden, Malfoy straddling one of Harry's thighs, Harry desperately rocking against him. Malfoy's erection pressed into Harry's leg, the rolling of their hips making Harry groan. He reached up blindly to have Malfoy's mouth back and found it, swiping his tongue over those lips as he had seen Malfoy do to Bertram back in that alley.  
  
The abrupt jerk of the carriage rounding a corner forced them apart.  
  
Malfoy crashed into the seat on the other side of the carriage, his hands automatically breaking his fall. Harry looked at him, certain his eyes must be as wild and desperate as the lust curling through his belly. He raised trembling fingers to his mouth and tried not to think of how desperately he wanted Malfoy's body back against his own.  
  
Malfoy looked at him. A shaky laugh escaped from his lips, lips Harry had bruised with his mouth.  
  
"Well," Malfoy said, aiming for his usual drawl but not quite managing it. "I think we understand one another now."  
  
Harry did not dare make any reply.  
  
Malfoy nodded to himself. "I shall take a hotel room," he went on. "I shall take a hotel room and you shall meet me there and we shall finish what we have begun."  
  
"Finish?" Harry said before he could stop himself.  
  
Malfoy eyed him. "Perhaps I misspoke. We shall conclude this night's business. I somehow doubt that will see an end to this."  
  
Harry bit his lip. His erection was still painfully in need of attention. He was desperate to touch Malfoy everywhere, desperate for this to never end. Once again he felt the presence of a terrible danger but he could not heed it – he desired too fiercely.  
  
Malfoy did not speak again until they were at the Potter's townhouse and Harry was stepping from the carriage. Able at least to appear composed once more, Harry looked back to Malfoy and asked, "You will send for me?"  
  
He was handing Malfoy all the power and knew it but didn't know what else he could do. There was no way to fight this, no way he could do other than succumb. He was managing not to touch Malfoy right this instant; that in itself felt like a victory as important as any of the last war.  
  
Malfoy arched an elegant eyebrow, his mouth forming that now-familiar smirk. "Do you know," he asked, "what you are getting into?" Without waiting for a response he rapped on the ceiling of the carriage and with a crack of Goyle's whip the carriage pulled away.  
  
Shaky, Harry stood a moment, breathing deeply. His mind whirling, it took him a few minutes to register that something was odd about the house; he had expected it to be dark, but he could see through the window that the lights still blazed. Harry frowned in confusion, and entered the house at once.  
  
The confusion lasted only a moment though before Madam Pomfrey appeared at the top of the stairs.  
  
"Mr Potter!" she cried, racing down the stairs at once. "Thank goodness!"  
  
"What's the matter?" Harry said, taking in her fraught appearance.  
  
"It's your wife!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THE WRONG CHAPTER HERE FIRST TIME I'M SO SORRY

That night was burned onto Harry's memory. He remembered sprinting up the stairs, he remembered clutching Ginny's hand. He remembered having to ask Madam Pomfrey to tell him what had happened a total of four times before abandoning the idea that it was going to sink in. And he remembered Ginny, fragile and so white he was afraid she had died.  
  
Harry was smoking a cigarette, head in his hands, when Sirius arrived home.  
  
"Harry, thank Merlin," Sirius said, throwing off his hat for Dobby to catch. "Where on earth were you? I looked everywhere before I came."  
  
Harry gave a choked sound and raised his head. "I left early," he said, truncating the truth and hating himself for it.  
  
"You must have passed the messenger on the way," Sirius supplied. "Is Ginny all right?"  
  
"Madam Pomfrey has managed to alleviate the pain," Harry said, taking another long pull on the cigarette. He coughed a little – it was not his vice, but Sirius kept them in the house for stressful times such as these.  
  
"I'll call her now," Sirius promised, and stepped past Harry where he sat on the stairs. He looked at Harry and reached out hesitantly to touch his shoulder. "I'm sure all will be well."  
  
Sirius left him and Harry was glad of it. His head was still swimming with the strange things Madam Pomfrey had said – something about water breaking early but labour not beginning, something that had soaked the bed sheets with blood and caused his brave, strong Ginny to scream in agony, something that had probably been caused by the carriage journey she had not wanted to take. Harry slumped backwards against the banister. Ginny had been suffering and she had told him she had been suffering and Harry had ignored her. Harry had resented her. Harry had gone to a bawd house with a lust for a man spiralling through him while his wife and third child nearly died.

Harry rose to his feet. He had failed his wife tonight; he would not fail his children. He would not fail again.  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
Exhaustion and crippling guilt proved quite effective at dampening Harry's overactive libido. Sirius never raised the subject of Harry's whereabouts again, seeming to believe that Harry's guilt stemmed merely from his having left Ginny alone in the house. Harry almost wished that Sirius would press him on the matter, demand answers, force Harry to face what he had done. But Sirius instead fussed over Harry and the boys in lieu of bothering Ginny, who spent most of her time now drugged into sleep.  
  
Harry had sat by her side for the rest of that night and well into the next day until she woke for the first time. He'd held her hand, stroked her face, ignored Madam Pomfrey's insistence that he get some sleep. When Ginny had finally awoken, he had kissed her knuckles and whispered, "I'm so sorry."  
  
Ginny had gripped his fingers as tightly as she could. "This was not your fault," she'd said. She'd said other things, about how she just needed rest and quiet but all Harry had heard was her absolving him when she had no idea of how callous he had been, how selfish. He could see now that he had been distancing himself from the idea of her – and now he had abruptly been reminded that she was real.  
  


Harry wore himself out in the days that followed, watching Ginny sleep, comforting James and Albus who were too young really to understand but who knew that their mother was ill and cried for fear of it.  
  
That was not even the worst of it. The day after the nightmare began, an elegant eagle owl arrived bearing Harry a missive in fine cursive. Luckily it came straight to him, obviously having been instructed to deliver it direct rather than allow house elves or other household members to accept it on his behalf. Harry did not need to see the Malfoy seal to know who it was from.  
  
He accepted the letter from the owl wordlessly; it had not waited for a reply which was well, as Harry had none. He did not open the letter, merely stared at it for a long time, looking at his name in Malfoy's hand, before abruptly throwing it into the fire and watching it burn to nothing.  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
Days passed. Harry received another letter, delivered by the same owl. It, too, he threw in the fire. He was half-afraid that Malfoy would do something overdramatic and ridiculous like send him a howler, but nothing else came.  
  
"Perhaps he has forgotten me already," Harry thought to himself, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought. This was better. This was what he had to do.  
  
Harry did not leave Grimmauld Place at all for the first week. He spent his time with his boys or with Ginny, unable to do much except watch them, terrified that if he wasn't there one of them would die. He _knew_ it was irrational, but he could not stop himself. It was as though the melancholy which afflicted him had been amplified by his failure in this until there was only fear and self-hatred and a gnawing certainty of disaster.  
  
"Thank you for taking such good care of me," Ginny whispered to him softly one morning, sending him spiralling into shame all over again, wondering what she would say if she knew what he had done, how he had betrayed her.  
  
"I love you," he told her over and over again, fiercely trying to imprint it on her so that she would be certain of him in the way he had always been certain of her. "I love you."  
  
Harry wondered if she knew that he was really saying, _Don't leave me._  
  
One night after everyone had gone to bed, Sirius found Harry sitting against the door to Ginny's room, tired and drawn.

“I brought you this,” Sirius said quietly, offering him a phial of turquoise-blue liquid.

Harry knew he should have recognised it but his mind was working more slowly than usual.

“Draught of Peace,” Sirius said when Harry made no move to take it. “You will do your family no good if you wear yourself out fretting.”

Harry reached out and took it. “Thank you,” he said softly, hating that Sirius had had to think of how to care for him because he was too weak to do it himself.  
  
"Harry," Sirius said helplessly, squeezing his shoulder. "She isn't going to die. She's going to be fine, they both are."  
  
Harry raised his eyes to Sirius, who seemed to flinch away from the expression in them. "Yes, they are."  
  
It was a promise.  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
April rolled into May and with it loomed the commemorative ceremony for the end of the War. Harry had been avoiding society for weeks, but there was no avoiding this. The Minister for Magic had personally requested his presence.  
  
"I wish I didn't have to go," Harry told Ginny during one of her rare periods of waking.  
  
"I wish I could," Ginny replied, her voice a little tart. "We all have our crosses to bear."  
  
Harry winced, his selfishness coming back into focus; Ginny saw it at once and reached for his hand. "I'm sorry," she said gently and for a moment she was herself again, the woman he loved. "I know this sort of thing isn't easy for you, and I truly wish I could be there to support you. You'll have to settle for my idiot brother," she said, giving his fingers a weak squeeze.

Harry brought her fingers to his mouth. "I do not think I could manage without you," he told her honestly.  
  
Ginny closed her eyes. "Not too much longer, my love."  
  
"Not too much longer," he echoed, holding on to her hand. Ginny made him feel at peace most of the time; it was why he loved her. She knew him so well.  
  
Harry tightened his hold until Ginny gasped, at which he let go immediately, apologies on his lips. _What kind of man am I,_ he asked himself, _that you are not enough for me?_  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
"You didn't come," Malfoy spat at Harry.  
  
The day of the ceremony had dawned warm and bright. Harry dressed with particular care in the special robes he'd had made. The ceremony would be held on the grounds of Hogwarts, by the white tomb which marked the final resting place of Albus Dumbledore. There would be speeches and silence in equal measure. It was also, Harry thought with a twist of his mouth, one of the social events of the season. There were adults now old enough that they had started school after the horror of the war was over and while the occasion was always solemn – many had still lost family, after all – they were memorialising that which they had not lived through. They could not imagine the horror of the school cracked open and broken, the bodies of their classmates crumpled on the ground.  
  
Harry tried to look at the bright side: people he hardly ever saw would be there. He could spend time with Ron and Hermione. He would see Sirius's intimate friend Remus for the first time in several years. Remus had been almost an uncle to Harry in his early years and Harry missed him now.

Naturally, the first person Harry had seen was the last person in the world he wanted to see. Malfoy had grabbed his arm, dragged him into a side chamber and glared at him.  
  
Now, Harry looked at him. He was still beautiful, in plum purple robes today. His nearness still sent white hot sparks through Harry's blood. But the shame and the self-loathing, the way he had felt so heartsick after their last encounter made it easy to say, "My wife needed me."  
  
Malfoy's mouth pulled itself into a sneer. "Oh, what a charming excuse."  
  
Malfoy's petulance caused Harry's ire to rise. "She is in a delicate condition and there have been some complications. The Healer is worried about her."  
  
Malfoy gave a huffing laugh, his eyes snapping fire. "I see. So guilt has pulled you back to the straight and narrow, is that it, Potter?"  
  
"She nearly died," Harry snarled, squaring up to Malfoy now. Their bodies were so close but for the first time Harry wanted to punch him more than he wanted to caress him. "She nearly died when I was with you. Don't you _dare_ tell me that any of what happened with you should mean more to me than that."  
  
Some emotion flashed in Malfoy's eyes too quickly for Harry to identify it. For a moment it seemed as though Malfoy would say something else but Harry was not stupid enough to wait for the madness to overcome him again; he pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way and yanked open the door, storming out and almost straight into Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Harry, we were just looking for you," Hermione began, with a smile on her face which froze as she saw something behind him.  
  
Ron's expression turned ugly at once. "Malfoy," he spat.  
  
"Weasley," came the drawl and Harry closed his eyes against the reality of the four of them in this room. "What a delight to see you again." The voice dripped sarcasm and Harry saw Ron's jaw tighten.  
  
"Why are you bothering Harry?" Ron demanded. Harry turned slightly, his eyes finding Malfoy's in alarm.  
  
He needn't have worried. Malfoy looked merely bored as he said, "Merely congratulating him on his accomplishments. I should join the crowd of admirers. Weasley," Malfoy said by way of conclusion, his eyes jerking towards Hermione. "Mrs Weasley. Potter." He gave them all a nod of acknowledgement and turned in a billowing swoop of robes to march away.  
  
The three friends watched him go.  
  
"Malfoy," Ron spat again. "I had hoped that we would never have to deal with him again.”

"What did he want, Harry?" Hermione asked.  
  
Harry did not know how to answer. He settled on, "I'm not sure."  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
The rest of that day passed in a blur. Harry stood in front of a crowd of hundreds of witches and wizards from Britain and some guests of note from the continent and delivered his speech on the importance of choosing what is right over what is easy. He had written it weeks before, based on a lesson imparted long ago by Headmaster Dumbledore. Now, though, its importance in his own life had been renewed and he had felt all the passion of a minister lambasting his congregation. Be good or pay the price - that was the message pumping through his body, the message he nearly shouted. Recognise right from wrong and do not fail. The cost of failure is too high, and with that Harry had looked straight at Malfoy, unable to help himself.  
  
Malfoy had not looked away.  
  
The burning grey of his eyes haunted Harry for the rest of the day, swirled through his mind as Minister Shacklebolt slapped his back and called him 'My boy', as Headmistress McGonagall told him that "Albus would be very proud of you today."

The proceedings snapped back into focus dramatically when a man to whom Harry had never spoken before smirked a little and said, "Mr Potter. We meet at last."  
  
Lucius, Lord Malfoy stood in front of him. He was almost exactly like Draco though a good twenty-five years or so older and more richly dressed. His voice was silkier than his son's, his gaze more calculating. Draco's passionate fury had in his father been tempered either by age or by judgement into a quiet menace which lay under the surface even as Lord Malfoy took Harry's hand and shook it.  
  
"Lord Malfoy," Harry acknowledged. "How do you do?"  
  
"How do you do?" Lord Malfoy responded, eyeing the finest robes Harry had ever owned with a disdainful eye. Lord Malfoy was notoriously a class snob and the fact that he was even deigning to acknowledge Harry Potter the half-blood was either a testament to Harry's notoriety or perhaps…  
  
Harry shoved down the thought at once; Lord Malfoy could not possibly know what had passed between his son and Harry.  
  
"An excellent speech, Mr Potter," Lord Malfoy offered. "It is well to remind us all of the importance of the choices we make."  
  
Crabbe Senior hovered behind Lord Malfoy, a grim smile on his face. Another Death Eater who had dodged Azkaban by the skin of his teeth and the application of considerable gold and influence. Harry eyed him for a moment before turning back to Lord Malfoy. "Quite."  
  
"It is a lesson I have long attempted to impart to my son," Lord Malfoy added. Harry swallowed. "You have children of your own do you not, Mr Potter?"  
  
"Two sons," Harry replied.  
  
Lord Malfoy's mouth curled into the same cruel smile which on Draco's face made Harry's neck flush. On his father it rather made Harry's hands turn clammy.  
  
"I am gratified to hear it," Lord Malfoy said smoothly. "Family values are so important. A pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter."  
  
"Lord Malfoy," Harry forced out as Lord Malfoy and Crabbe brushed past him.  
  
At the time, Harry had no idea how significant that encounter would come to be. He was merely grateful for the distraction afforded by the presence of Remus Lupin.  
  
"Lord Malfoy trying to intimidate you, Harry?"  
  
"Remus!" Harry said, a smile coming naturally to his face for what felt like the first time that day. "I'm so glad you're here!"  
  
"How could I miss the memorial?" Remus said. He was dressed in his habitually shabby robes, his money all going on things for Teddy despite Sirius' best efforts at looking after them both. His face looked thin and tired as always though his eyes were warm, and when Harry shook his hand, it was with real affection. "Your speech went well, I thought," Remus said. Harry grimaced. "Yes, I know you hate having to give them," Remus commiserated, "but you came across very well. I thought you should know."  
  
"It's some comfort, though I barely felt like myself even as I spoke," Harry admitted. "Will we have much time to talk?"  
  
Remus shook his head. "Unlikely, Harry, for today at least. I'm in charge of the students of my house; I need to keep an eye on them. But perhaps I could come and visit soon, if Sirius can find space for yet another guest."  
  
"Sirius would be delighted," the man himself said, appearing on the podium to join the conversation. His eyes lit on Remus with that happiness that the two friends always seemed to find in one another's company. "It has been far too long, Moony."  
  
"It has been but five months, Padfoot," Remus replied, but the reluctant tugging of a smile at his mouth told of his pleasure at hearing he was missed.  
  
"Too long," Sirius asserted firmly and Harry was inclined to agree.  
  
"I will see what I can do," Remus promised. "And perhaps you could come to us some time over the summer?"  
  
Harry sighed. "I would love to but it will depend on Ginny's health."  
  
"Of course," Remus said at once. "You are expecting an addition very shortly, are you not?"  
  
"Very shortly," Harry agreed. "But it would be a pleasure to receive you no matter the circumstances."  
  
"We'll see how Teddy is getting on," Remus said, nodding. "I cannot believe that he is ready to finish school!"  
  
"Has he been accepted?" Harry asked. "You mentioned that he was hoping to train as a Healer."  
  
"He will hear by the end of the month," Remus said. "But speaking of Teddy, I must get back to him and the others."  
  
"Of course," Sirius said. "We shall hope to hear from you very soon."  
  
Remus smiled at them both before moving away. Harry watched him go, unsure what he was looking for until his eyes fell on Teddy with a group of other Hogwarts students. He was laughing, his face lit up and happy, his hair bright blue. Harry watched him for a moment until Teddy turned, perhaps sensing his gaze. Their eyes locked. Teddy faltered slightly before his smile grew wider, his hand raising in a gesture of greeting. Harry forced himself to smile back before looking away, ignoring the confused feeling in his stomach.  
  
When he turned around, Malfoy was glowering at him as though he had seen the moment which had passed between Harry and Teddy and had come to precisely the right conclusion.  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
A fortnight went by. Harry's days were marked by playing with his sons, ushering a string of in-laws through Sirius' house to see Ginny, and worst of all watching Molly Weasley fuss and Ginny cling to her where usually she would have insisted that she could look after herself.  
  
Though Harry stayed by Ginny's side through the day, he still slept apart from her. He had thought that perhaps he had put all his strange conflicted desires from his mind until he went to sleep one night with the spectre of Malfoy's mouth hovering at the edge of his consciousness. When Harry woke the next morning, his sheets were wet as they had not been since his teenage years. He closed his eyes against the bitter sting of tears and wished again for this terrible need to just leave him in peace.  
  
As it turned out, however, he would have other problems to deal with.  
  
Sirius had sat down to breakfast before Harry even made it downstairs. Kreacher poured Harry some tea unprompted and Harry thanked him quietly.  
  
"You have a letter, Master Potter," Kreacher said grudgingly.  
  
Harry's stomach sank. "Oh?"  
  
Sirius shrugged. "No doubt another invitation to something. Which reminds me, Remus should be able to make it to town next week. He'll be staying with Ted and Andromeda rather than here." Sirius' voice sounded a little odd when he said that; Harry knew that the premature death of Nymphadora, Sirius' cousin and Remus' wife, still preyed heavily on both their minds. It would be good for Remus to spend a little time with his in-laws, Harry thought, though it may be painful.  
  
None of this was enough to distract Harry from the letter. It was not in the hand he had feared to see but in another style he did not quite recognise.  
  
When he opened it, it was merely one line.  
  
 _I need to see you. Meet me at the Hogs Head next Saturday. Teddy._  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
Harry had never had thoughts about a man before Malfoy. Malfoy had changed him somehow.  
  
Except…  
  
The consuming need to please Oliver Wood at school. The moments when he looked at Ron's brother Charlie and something odd curled through his stomach. The curiosity underlying the shock of finding out what the renters were and what they did.  
  
And, most damningly, the incident in summer the year before.  
  
Harry had gone to visit Remus for a few days while Ginny visited Luna Lovegood. Teddy had been only sixteen at the time, and had plagued Harry with questions about his life, his family, his choices. Harry found himself telling Teddy all about his long-abandoned dream to be an Auror.  
  
"But of course I will be Lord Black one day," Harry said with a rueful smile. "Any such career would be beneath the dignity of such a noble house."  
  
"Sirius would think it all a great adventure, surely?" Teddy said, raising himself up on his elbows. They were in the garden, enjoying the sunlight, dressed all in white. Teddy never liked formal clothes and his straw hat had already been discarded.  
  
"He might," Harry acknowledged. "He hates the conventions that restrict him but he knows it is important that moderate voices such as his remain on the Wizengamot – otherwise the blood purists might pass further restrictions. Your father, for example…"  
  
"They make his life more difficult," Teddy said. "Is his life not hard enough already?"  
  
Harry had no answer for that. Instead he reached out and clasped his fingers around the back of Teddy's neck.  
  
Teddy looked at him then, his face very near. Harry pulled his hand away, pretending that he had not felt a sudden rush of heat.  
  
"It's too warm," he remarked when Teddy frowned in confusion at the aborted gesture.  
  
Teddy grinned. "Well, then Harry, let's take a dip in the stream!"  
  
Harry shook his head. "Teddy, you are not a boy any more and I certainly am not – a man must act with decorum."  
  
Teddy laughed at that, throwing his head back and opening his mouth wide. White teeth gleamed at Harry, mischief sparkled from eyes which changed colour from moment to moment and then Teddy was off, running towards the stream, discarding his clothes as he went.  
  
Harry had sighed and walked slowly after him, ready to reprimand him further. But then there was a splash and Teddy stood up in the water.  
  
His hair, usually sandy brown, turned gold. The muscles in his back and shoulders, slender and well-defined, moved beneath his golden skin. Then he turned to face Harry, droplets of water clinging to his chest and collarbones.  
  
"Come in, Harry!" Teddy called, his face bright with the pleasure of the cool water. "Come in, it's wonderful!"  
  
Harry swallowed hard. He didn't dare move. He didn't know what was happening to him, only that there was a terrible danger here that he couldn't see, couldn't understand.  
  
Teddy turned towards him then. "Harry, are you well?"  
  
Harry flinched away from the sight, berating himself. Men always swim naked and usually in groups – what was the matter with him? "You're in the stream, Teddy," he said, but his voice didn't sound like him and he couldn't quite breathe.  
  
"And so much cooler for it," Teddy agreed happily, nude and wet and suddenly so inviting.  
  
"I'd best go inside," Harry gasped out and turned, stumbling back into the house.  
  
His pulse had been racing, his stomach had been churning, and he had been – he could admit it now, if only to himself – beginning to harden. He had choked down the feeling, telling himself that this was the baby he had held in him arms when he was already at Hogwarts, the poor boy with no mother who Harry had tried to spoil when he saw him every Christmas. What could possibly have caused him to look at Teddy that way now?  
  
Harry had plunged his body into ice cold water and tried to slow his pounding heart, uncertain of everything about himself. But when he saw Teddy again he said only, "There you are, Harry – I was afraid you'd got sun stroke."  
  
Teddy had seemed more confused than anything by what had happened at the time, but what if now that he was older he had made sense of it and wanted to confront Harry? Or what if he wanted…  
  
No. He slammed down the thought at once. Teddy was his godson, the son of a man he respected beyond words and Harry would never even consider betraying his trust in such a way.  
  
But that night it was Teddy's wet skin Harry saw in his mind before he fell asleep.  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
Harry arrived at the Hog's Head just after lunch, having Apparated to Hogsmeade.  
  
He had not told either Ginny or Sirius where he was going or who he intended to meet. It was damning, he knew, but he had felt as though he had no choice. He had to know what Teddy had to say to him and he could not face their questions if he had to talk to the boy about anything untoward.  
  
He sat at a corner table, raising a hand in greeting to Aberforth Dumbledore who grunted.

  
"Your guest's in the room at the back," Aberforth said, barely looking up from the glass he was cleaning.  
  
"Oh?" Harry said, hoping his voice didn't sound as unnatural to Aberforth as it did to himself.  
  
"Aye," Aberforth said. "But if you're wise you'll not go back there."  
  
Harry looked at Aberforth in astonishment. "I cannot imagine why you would say such a thing." His mind raced. What had Teddy said? Why was Aberforth saying this to him now?  
  
Aberforth grunted again and turned his back to Harry, whose mind raced. He considered forcing the issue, but he was certain that he would need all his resolve to make it through whatever might be coming.  
  
Squaring his shoulders, Harry walked past the door and through into the room at the back, telling himself over and over again that Teddy must surely want nothing more than to talk.  
  
Though the door Harry went, hat and cloak in hand.  
  
It was not Teddy who greeted him. It was Malfoy.  
  
"Good day, Potter," he snarled.  
  
Harry felt the door fall closed behind him.  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
"Malfoy." The name fell out of Harry's mouth without his having made a conscious decision to speak.  
  
Malfoy was sitting back on a hard wooden chair, his long legs thrown up onto the table before him. His cravat was red, the colour of rage. He stood, long limbs levering him upright with effortless grace, and prowled towards Harry like a predator about to execute his prey.  
  
"So, Potter," Malfoy spat. "You will not meet with me or even acknowledge my letters but when that boy asks to see you, you do not even hesitate to answer his call."  
  
"Teddy is my godson!" Harry snapped. "You are trying to corrupt me! The two situations are hardly comparable!"  
  
"Your godson," Malfoy repeated, his tone mocking the very concept. "Yes, your godson and ten years younger than you and yet you look at him as though you'd die for a chance to tear his very clothes from his body!"  
  
Harry scoffed even as his stomach clenched. "Teddy looks on me as a mentor, an older brother perhaps. I doubt he even understands the kind of act you are insinuating has taken place between us."  
  
"You are so naïve, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "He looks at you all wide-eyes and smooth body and plays on your desperate need to feel young. You cannot even remember who you were before you married your wife, can you?"  
  
"Do not," Harry forced out, "even _speak_ of my wife."  
  
They had somehow grown closer over the course of their fight. Harry found himself snarling those words directly into Malfoy's face, his hands clenched into fists by his side. Malfoy was barely inches away, his face flushed, his eyes furious and alive.  
  
Harry wanted to step away but then Malfoy said, "Why shouldn't I? You choke down your very nature for her sake one minute and you want to seduce a boy in your care the next…"  
  
"That is not true!" Harry shouted, forcing down the shame at the part of him that indeed wanted just that. "I am trying to take care of my family and you keep trying to get in the way of that, keep trying to confuse and push me and you…"  
  
"I what, Potter?" Malfoy asked when Harry couldn't quite finish his sentence. His tone had turned silky, his demeanour more confident and Harry had a bare split-second of warning before Malfoy was smashing his mouth onto Harry's.  
  
Malfoy's mouth, wet and hungry and desperate, worked frantically at Harry's own, tongue swiping over Harry's lips, enticing them to open. Malfoy's arms were coming around Harry's body but Harry struggled, pulling his mouth away.  
  
"You may be a sodomite and you may consort with sodomites, but you will _not_ make a sodomite of me!" Harry burst out.  
  
Malfoy stilled. For a moment Harry had hope that he would let go, walk away. Harry knew for certain that he could hide from Malfoy, stay away from him, stay safe that way for a lifetime but the moment Malfoy touched him, he was lost.  
  
Malfoy did not speak. His eyes caught Harry's, focused and determined as Harry was sure his own must be wide and fearful.  
  
Malfoy held Harry's gaze as he reached out a hand to trace the angle of Harry's waistcoat from collarbone to where the two halves met halfway down his chest. Harry couldn't move, found himself rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but look into Malfoy's eyes as his other hand slid around to Harry's hip.  
  
Harry shuddered slightly as Malfoy stroked his chest with one hand and his hip with the other. Long, deft fingers slid up his cravat to stroke the line of his jaw and Harry couldn't move. Malfoy's hand curled under the bottom of Harry's jacket to slip beneath the waistcoat and caress the soft skin with nothing between them there save the thin cotton of Harry's shirt.  
  
Malfoy hummed in something that might have been pleasure and might have been triumph, and moved his head toward Harry's face again. At that Harry at last found the will to jerk himself away, but he had somehow been turned so that his back was to the wall and there was nowhere to go as Malfoy pressed his lower body into Harry's, slipping his thigh between Harry's legs.  
  
"Just let go," Malfoy whispered. "I know what you want. Just let go."  
  
Harry's hands felt like lead weights hanging from his body as Malfoy slowly moved his thigh back and forth just a little, just enough to force Harry to catch his breath and close his eyes. His blood was pounding, his mind was scrambled, there was nothing real or solid in the whole world except the jewel-brightness of Malfoy burning into his very soul and when Malfoy pressed a kiss to Harry's jaw Harry at last gave in and with a strangled cry, took Malfoy's head in his hands and plundered his mouth.  
  
Harry did not know what he had been expecting from the leap within him whenever he had seen Malfoy, the almost painful desire which spiked when Malfoy touched him. He knew that the reality far outstripped any of the naïve fantasies or even that strange dream-like encounter in the carriage. This felt absolutely real and all the more intense.  
  
Malfoy responded to the kiss by fisting his hands in Harry's hair, gasping for breath, words like "Yes" and "So good" and "Please" all spilling from his mouth. Harry did not dare explore Malfoy's body though he was desperate to touch him – the thought of running his hand over flat chest or wrapping a hand around another man's cock was just too, too much. But this, kissing him, letting Malfoy slide his jacket off and work at exposing as much of Harry's skin as possible, this in itself was enough to make Harry feel as though the whole world were breaking apart.  
  
Malfoy managed to get Harry's cravat untied and open the front of his shirt. The touch of Malfoy's fingers on Harry's bare skin was indescribable, sending white-hot chills through Harry's body. Harry moaned and held on tighter to Malfoy's silk strands of hair.  
  
Without meaning to, Harry had begun to thrust against Malfoy's thigh still lodged between his own. The friction was divine and Harry actually pulled away from the kiss to gasp.  
  
Malfoy responded by kissing his throat and tugging more insistently at his clothes. Harry thrust up hard and felt Malfoy's cock just _there_ , hard and insistent as his own. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.  
  
Once Malfoy had Harry's upper half naked at last he slid his hands over Harry's shoulders, down his back. Harry moved closer, pressing the length of his body against Malfoy's for the first time.  
  
A sharp sound emerged from Malfoy's throat and he pressed himself back eagerly. And that was as much as they could manage – Harry pressed into Malfoy and Malfoy pressed into Harry and their hips thrust against one another. Malfoy moved away for a split second in order to realign their lower bodies and then Harry's cock was against Malfoy's own and even through layers of fine muslin the sensation made Harry desperate. He reached at last for Malfoy's shoulders and explored his back, pushing Malfoy's jacket aside. Malfoy responded by pinching Harry's nipple; it sent a bolt of pleasure clean through him and then without warning Harry thrust one final time and felt the world explode into heat, Malfoy only moments behind.  
  
  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
  
Harry didn't know what to say as he pulled his clothes back on.  
  
After they had finished, Malfoy had pulled out his wand and cleaned them both up. Now he stood watching Harry dress.  
  
"So tell me, Potter," Malfoy said, his voice oddly empty of the mocking tone Harry had come to expect. "Was it really so unnatural and repugnant?"  
  
Harry did not want to answer, but neither could he lie to the person who had brought him such pleasure. "No, it was not."  
  
"No," Malfoy agreed. He tilted his head to one side and smirked. "Quite the opposite in fact."  
  
Harry did not know where to look, what to think. His mind was no longer awhirl: rather it was almost completely blank. Some seismic shift had happened deep within him and he felt wiped clean, exhausted and confused and almost like weeping.  
  
Malfoy stood, and Harry wondered how so great a change could have taken place in this filthy little room.  
  
"Take care, Potter," Malfoy said and he breezed past Harry and out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was shaking so badly he could barely walk from the room. He did not dare Apparate, certain he would splinch himself, perhaps beyond saving, and he had not the presence of mind to find a Floo gate. Instead he ran blindly out into the streets of Hogsmeade as though a hundred Dark Lords and Death Eaters chased him and kept running even as others on the streets stared, some even calling out to him. He had no thought in his mind at all except to outrun the terrible thing inside him even though he knew it to be utterly futile.  
  
How he made it to Ron and Hermione's house he never knew.  
  
Hermione opened the door herself – she had Views on house-elves, even if she and Ron could have afforded servants. She was startled by his appearance but said only, "Harry! What a surprise, do come in. Rosie's sleeping at last; I could do with some adult conversation."  
  
Harry wondered how he must look to her, flushed and wild-eyed, and walked in without a word as he tried to compose himself.  
  
"Are you quite well, Harry?" Hermione said as she closed the door behind them, leading him into the parlour. "Goodness knows there's no need for formality between us but it isn't often you come to see me when my husband is not present – it's terribly improper, you know." She was teasing, of course–none but the cattiest of tabbies would remark on a brother and sister-in-law spending an afternoon together. She was merely telegraphing her concern, inviting Harry to confide in her.  
  
"Hermione," Harry burst out as she sat down, "Hermione, I need your help but I must first ask you to promise that you will tell no one about this."  
  
"Of course, Harry," Hermione said at once.  
  
Harry swallowed. "Not even Ron."  
  
At that Hermione's head came up. The three of them had shared all manner of secrets at school, but it had always been _three_ of them. It had been a long, long time since there had been anything that all three of them couldn't share.  
  
Hermione looked at Harry long and hard. He stood and let her look, wondering how much of his desperation she could see in his face.  
  
"It's that serious?" she asked, her eyes wide.  
  
"I fear so," he replied.  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. "All right, Harry."  
  
"Thank you," Harry said, relief swelling in him so sweet and sharp he feared he might collapse. "I know how much I am asking of you."  
  
"Just tell me, Harry," Hermione said, her voice now full of trepidation, "what could be so bad?"  
  
Harry took a deep breath. "I fear I may be under someone's influence."  
  
Hermione frowned a little. "I don't understand."  
  
Harry twisted his gloves between his fingers. "Recently I have found myself having feelings I fear may not be my own."  
  
Hermione was on her feet in a trice, her face reflecting a deep-seated horror. "Harry," she breathed, "you cannot mean… Is Voldemort… is he…?"  
  
"Nothing like that!" Harry reassured her at once, cursing his own stupidity in scaring her so badly. "Not at all, no, much more like…" Harry bit his lip. "You remember Romilda Vane?"  
  
Hermione frowned a moment before her expression cleared. "Oh! A love potion? And you a married man, Harry! What kind of woman would do such a thing?"  
  
"Hermione, I would not speak ill of a lady," Harry said, taking refuge in formality even as a part of him longed to unburden his soul of the terrible secret. "Not without proof and I fear…" He hadn't meant to say so much. He wiped his mouth.  
  
"You fear your feelings are genuine?" Hermione said, her voice barely a whisper.  
  
Harry looked at her and felt the abject misery bleeding out of him. Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and reached for Harry's arm with the other.  
  
"It came on so suddenly!" Harry burst out, relieved at last to be able to speak of this. Perhaps it was by telling a dear friend even part of the truth that he might lance the boil, deprive Malfoy of his power over him. "I was not looking for any such thing, Hermione, I swear it, but now my thoughts, my dreams, everything is changed and I do not want to, I _cannot_ betray Ginny." He had, already, so badly, but he couldn't tell Hermione of that; he could only hope that she could help him make it _stop_. "Please, Hermione," Harry said and as he raised his eyes to hers again, he felt the weight of frustrated tears welling in his own. "Please, there is no one I rely on more than you."  
  
Hermione took a long, shaky breath and nodded. "Let us see what we can find."  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
The rest of the afternoon and into the evening was a barrage of questions, spells and suggested counter-potions, interrupted only when Rose demanded her mother's attention. "Do you know when you might have been slipped a potion? Have you ruled out the _Imperius_ curse? Have you tried the remedy for Amortentia?"  
  
Harry answered as best he could and Hermione fired off counter-spell after counter-spell.  
  
"Do you feel different?" she would ask after every attempt and Harry would search his feelings and be forced to conclude that no, he did not.  
  
"There is something I can try to brew," Hermione said at last. "It seems most likely that it might be a potion – there is nothing to suggest that you are under a particular incantation." Hermione knew as many spells to counter such incantations as her husband, who had been Head Auror for three years. Harry wished sometimes that his life might have allowed him to pursue a career in such a field, but he had responsibilities as the Black heir and it was unthinkable for him to enter a trade of any kind.  
  
"I will try anything," Harry whispered, exhausted beyond measure.  
  
"If you have taken any other potions at all," Hermione warned, "it will counter all the effects."  
  
Harry had taken more Draught of Peace in the last month than was likely healthy, not to mention his recent addition of Dreamless Sleep but he nodded at once: after all, if this potion could end this obsession it would be well worth the flare of melancholy which might arise in consequence. "I have been taking nothing recently," he said simply. "Just tell me what ingredients you need and I will obtain them.

Hermione nodded. "Bring them tomorrow," she began, but the end of her sentence was cut off by the fireplace roaring.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," Ron said, not looking up. "We had this wizard cornered in Knockturn Alley, it took… Oh," he said as he shrugged off his cloak and found Harry sitting before him. "Hullo, mate."  
  
"I invited Harry for dinner," Hermione said brightly. "He hasn't been enjoying the social scene in London. Sirius has been keeping him far too busy so I thought he might enjoy some quiet time here with us."  
  
"Rosie's been letting you have quiet time?" Ron asked, amused. "That's rare."  
  
"She's been good as gold," Hermione said, smiling at her husband in a brittle way that did nothing to hide her discomfort; other than her teenage infatuation with him, Hermione had never hidden much from Ron.  
  
There was an odd silence as Ron tried to work out what was wrong.  
  
In the end he shrugged. "So what are we having?" he asked.  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Harry had never felt uncomfortable with Ron and Hermione before in his life; that dinner marked the first and, he hoped, the only time. Hermione had chattered away, encouraging Ron to regale Harry with stories of life as an Auror and Harry had hoped that Ron would chalk up his inability to concentrate to exhaustion from too much socialising in London.  
  
The last thing he wanted was to cause any friction between them.  
  
He lay down that night to sleep with a quagmire of feelings churning within him: tension, confusion, frustration, the terrible fear of discovery, but for the first time he felt hope that perhaps the madness would be fleeting. Perhaps since he had not been able to shake this desire with sheer will he could conquer it now with the application of knowledge.  
  
But in the night all he thought of was Malfoy, his swollen mouth and hot gasping breath.  
  
It had to stop.  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Hermione sent him an owl the next day with a list of ingredients and a stern instruction to bring them as early in the morning as he could. Harry took a moment to imagine darting around Diagon Alley like a criminal, fearful of whom he might see around every corner and asked Dobby to go for him instead.  
  
"Anything I can do for Harry Potter!" the little elf said, excited and Harry smiled despite himself. He was glad he had insisted on obtaining the ingredients; there were one or two which were quite rare and expensive and if he had not bought them himself, Hermione would never have asked him for repayment.  
  
Dobby returned in short order with everything he needed and assured Harry that he had been very discreet; Harry hoped for the best and thanked him profusely.  
  
"Good morning," Hermione said when he arrived at her home, through the Floo this time. Rose was gurgling happily in her Moses basket, and Harry smiled, warmed by the sight of her.  
  
"Good morning," he replied, the moment's warmth fading fast as he remembered his purpose in coming. "I have everything you need."  
  
"Wonderful," Hermione said, taking the bag of ingredients from him and unpacking them. "You bought more than will be necessary."  
  
"I thought it best to have enough for more than one dose," he said honestly.  
  
Hermione nodded at this, her face troubled.  
  
"How long will it take to brew?" he asked.  
  
"Not long," she said, returning to her usual brisk manner. "I will begin immediately if you would be good enough to watch Rose?"  
  
"Of course," Harry said, smiling. "It would be a pleasure. A change, certainly, to spend time with a baby girl."  
  
Hermione smiled. "Perhaps your new addition will be a daughter."  
  
Harry exhaled. "Do you know I have been so troubled of late that I have barely given the matter any thought for weeks?"  
  
Hermione tried to smile again, but this time her eyes were sad.  
  
"I remember thinking before, though," Harry went on, "that Ginny would like to have a girl. We are thinking of Lily, perhaps, or Molly."  
  
"Lovely names," Hermione said gently, touching his shoulder.  
  
The two hours Harry spent with Rose were soothing. He had taken care to make himself available to his sons but he had been unhappy for other reasons and had not let himself fully enjoy the time. Now, with preparations underway to resolve the problem, he could relax and remember all the things that were important. Family. His children. He looked at Rose, so charmed by the coloured sparks he made from his wand when she became restless, and thought, yes, I would like to have a girl, too.  
  
He and Ginny and James and Al and a baby girl. He had always wanted a family. He would do nothing to threaten the commitments he had made.  
  
"The potion is ready," Hermione said, stepping quietly into the room.  
  
Harry smiled, wide and shaky and genuine. "Thank you," he said, feeling saved.  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Harry didn't feel any different.  
  
He had taken the potion precisely as directed and retired to his rooms. He had told Sirius that he was feeling under the weather and let the potion do its work. It was designed to flush his entire system and Harry spent most of the night in the water closet. But in the morning he felt merely hungry and tired. The thought of Malfoy still made his body react in the same way. His dreams had been full of the man and without the Draught of Peace his stomach was a pit.  
  


Harry could have wept at the terrible unfairness of it all. He had hoped, he had hoped so desperately. But he could lie to himself no longer: he had known that it would not work. He had known somewhere deep in his gut that what Malfoy brought out in him was nothing that had not been there before, buried beneath layers of confusion and supressed through sheer determination.  
  
Harry was an invert. It made no sense – he loved Ginny, had loved her desperately in the beginning though it had since faded to a pleasurable sense of companionship. She understood him. She was beautiful. And yet, since she had begun to bear his children, he had sought the joys of the marital bed less and less frequently. He had been frustrated with himself and at the growing distance between them, not understanding where it had come from and now he could remember only the relief he had felt during their courtship, the joy of knowing that he was to be part of her family and create their own in turn.  
  
But what he _wanted_ …  
  
He wanted Malfoy. Much as it shook him to admit it to himself, he wanted Malfoy to touch him again, just as he had in the Hogs Head. He wanted Malfoy over and over again, wanted to make him come apart, soften that sneer into a look of pure desire.  
  
Harry slumped down against the door to his bedroom, his head in his hands. This was intolerable.  
  
Harry didn't know what to do.  
  
He was somewhat relieved when Madam Pomfrey came to him a few hours later to say simply, "It's started. Your wife is having the baby."  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Nine hours of pacing and shrieks later, Harry was holding a tiny bundle of pink tinged with red: his daughter. Wrapped in white lace, she was hideous and beautiful as only new-born babies can be; Harry held in her in his arms and adored her.  
  
Ginny was exhausted but she was smiling as she lay back against the pillows, so strong, always so strong.  
  
"What shall we name her?" he asked Ginny softly.  
  
Ginny shifted slightly, holding out her hand to touch their daughter's delicate fingers. "I had some ideas," she whispered. "But now I see her, none of them are quite right. What is your opinion?"  
  
"I thought Lily, or Molly," Harry said. "Perhaps both?"  
  
"Lily Molly?" Ginny wrinkled her nose. "How droll that sounds." Harry let out a huff of surprised laughter: Ginny used to make him laugh all the time but it had been so long, he had all but forgotten.  
  
"I agree, the names are too similar," he said. He looked at his daughter again, all squashed and misshapen and so very dear already. Harry looked at Ginny and looked at his baby girl and thought, _This life. This._  
  
Ginny thought for a moment. "Perhaps Lily Luna? We could ask Luna to stand godmother."  
  
Ron and Hermione were godparents to both James and Albus, but Harry was certain they wouldn't be offended. "Lily Luna," he tried. The baby girl in his arms looked at him with her eyes bright and wide, and Harry felt everything in the world focus on her. "Perfect," he breathed, his eyes only for his daughter. "Ginny, she's perfect."  
  
 _This_ was what was important. Malfoy could go to the devil: Harry was with his family.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
With a new baby, Harry was excused from socialising for a while.  
  
"Until the presentation, anyway," Sirius said, nursing his brandy.  
  
"Mm," said Harry, non-committal.  
  
Sirius' eyes narrowed. "I know that you have not been quite yourself in the wake of Ginny's complications," he said, "but there is very little point in your having come to town at all if you do not present the baby to society."  
  
Harry raised his hand to his brow, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. He was starting to wrinkle there, he could feel it. "I know, Sirius, I know. But with Ginny's health still being what it is, and so many people expected to attend a presentation…"  
  
"This isn't about Ginny's health," Sirius said forcefully.  
  
Harry froze.  
  
Sirius looked at him. "There is something else going on, something you're not saying. You cannot confide in me: very well. But do me the courtesy of realising that I see it."  
  
A long pause followed.  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "Remus asked you what was wrong?"  
  
Sirius' lip curled. "Fine, yes. But I care, Harry."  
  
The simple declaration moved Harry more than he might have expected: it was nothing he did not know after all. He nodded, half to himself. "Yes, there have been other things that have affected my enjoyment of my time in town. We will have the presentation and then Ginny and the children and I will return to Godric's Hollow and we will stay away from London for a long while." It was the best course of action Harry had been able to come up with.  
  
Sirius' face clouded over. "Has it been so terrible to stay here with me?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Sirius, you know that is not it. And you are welcome to visit us at any time. I will be glad to return to normalcy, that is all. I have always favoured the quiet life as you know." So many half-truths; Harry wondered how many of them Sirius could see through. "Let us speak with Ginny to arrange a date and a time for the ball, and then we will depart."  
  
He would return his life to the way it had been. He could do it. He _could_.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
It took the better part of a fortnight to make the arrangements for the presentation, and longer for Ginny to feel ready to be included. The prevailing wisdom had it that this was still much too soon, but Harry was desperate to get away from London and Ginny had almost matched him in this feeling.  
  
"It has not been an easy time for either of us," Ginny said to Harry one day.  
  
"But now there's Lily," he said softly, and Ginny smiled her agreement into his shoulder. "So we'll do what we have to do and then we'll go back to Godric's Hollow." He kissed Ginny's forehead gently and her smile widened.  
  
The day was therefore set for precisely five weeks after Lily's birth – 11th August, which was also her mother’s birthday.  
  
By the time the appointed day came, Harry hadn't heard from Malfoy at all and was glad of it.  
  
The Malfoys had, however, been invited to the festivities celebrating Lily's birth.  
  
Harry had questioned it, knowing Sirius' feelings on the family, and had been told, "They are too powerful to be given the cut direct, Harry. Everyone receives them despite their reputation."  
  
Harry had not pressed, knowing that to do so would only give rise to questions he would not know how to answer. He merely steeled himself as best he could against the inevitable encounter, and concentrated on planning.

  
August had come and so the ball was to be held outside, in a quiet corner of St James' Park which would be warded against non-magical visitors for the occasion. Sirius had insisted once again on footing the bill, which must surely have run into hundreds of galleons.  
  
"Everyone will be there!" Sirius crowed.  
  
Harry clenched his jaw and reminded himself that it was just one night and then it would be over.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Harry dressed with particular care for the party that night: the finest of his dress robes with a white shirt, cravat and waistcoat. Dobby tied the cravat, chattering away to himself and Harry tried not to remember Malfoy's habit of matching his robes to his waistcoat.  
  
"You look very handsome, my dear," Ginny said. Her confinement had left her with a pallor which went beyond even the fashion for pale skin, but her red hair was still gloriously bright and her eyes the soft hazel he had always found comforting. Harry felt a pang of remorse for the distance which had existed between them and swore to himself for the hundredth time since her recovery that he would do nothing to risk hurting her. It meant so much to him that she could stand by him now and tuck her hand into his elbow, that she would be at his side to greet even Malfoy – and if this thought disturbed Harry a little it also strengthened him. Even Malfoy would not dare create a scene at an event such as this with his father in attendance, surely?  
  
"The robes are lovely," Harry said, because he was supposed to. The fabric was a dove grey, appropriately modest for a wife and mother though the neckline was still fashionably low. The sleeves were trimmed with _broderie anglaise_ which the dressmaker had apparently insisted would be hugely popular very soon and Harry suspected that would be the case if Ginny wore it; they were still famous, after all.

He handed her a velvet box. “Happy birthday, my dear,” he said as he handed it over.

She opened it to find a brooch in the shape of a dragonfly, gold encrusted with rubies and pearls. “It’s beautiful, Harry!” she exclaimed. “Help me pin it to my shoulder.”

Harry stepped close to oblige her. Her smile was lovely to see. He had missed it.  
  
Ginny spent a moment after admiring herself in the looking glass before placing a delicate kiss on Harry’s mouth. "I am ready. Let them come and see us." Ginny sighed, resting her head against Harry's shoulder. "Let them gawp at little Lily. You know, there are perhaps ten people I will be happy to see tonight? Sometimes I do wish that you were not to be Lord Black."  
  
Harry frowned slightly – Ginny never had much patience for society, but the Black legacy was important to Sirius, deny it though he certainly might. "It demands a great deal," he allowed, resting his left hand on his wife's fingers curled around his other arm.  
  
"Well, here we are at least. We have made it through the summer," Ginny said, mostly to herself. “And I have lived another year.”  
  
Harry pressed his lips to her forehead. "Let the party begin!" he muttered under his breath.  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
With a soiree of such distinction taking place in such a public area, and a place without Floo access no less, Harry knew Sirius had gone to great lengths to ensure that the guests would encounter minimal difficulties in travelling to the park. Portkey centres had been set up to allow entry at certain points around the site, with house elves waiting to take cloaks and hats from the guests. Apparition points had also been made available, but with a strict RSVP policy so that time slots could be allocated.  
  
"Too regimented?" Ginny had pondered.  
  
"It allows you to ensure that the people we actually want to see get here first," Harry had pointed out dryly.  
  
The huge white marquee had been beautifully decorated. Delicate golden chairs formed clusters around the refreshment tables while gardenias hung from the poles keeping the structure upright, filling the air with rich, sweet scent. Guests would enter to the sight of the whole Potter family, plus Sirius as honorary patriarch and host, and proceed down to where the festivities might begin.  
  
The Weasley family arrived first, of course. So many of them all at once and Harry remembered how much he had in turn loved and looked up to them all, the family he had always wanted to be part of.  
  
Hermione had gripped his shoulder a moment too long when she'd kissed his face in greeting, her expression clearly asking, _Did it work? Are you well?_ He smiled at her as convincingly as he could manage and she nodded back at him, seeming relieved.  
  
"Ginny dear!"  
  
Harry cringed a little as the ever-overwhelming Molly Weasley swept on to the scene. He shook hands with Arthur and the two exchanged wry glances as Molly fussed over Ginny, asking if she was sure she was up to the strain of the party, if she was sure that this could not have been delayed to allow her more time for recovery – in short, she asked again all the questions that she had come to Grimmauld Place to ask repeatedly over the weeks before this evening.  
  
"I am quite well, mother," Ginny insisted, and though Harry knew it was as much bravado as truth he also knew Ginny well enough to understand that it was important to her to be seen again as strong.  
  
He loved her so much for that.  
  
Sirius cleared his throat and said, "Will you not come and look at your grandchildren, Molly?"  
  
"Oh! Of course," Molly said, distracted at once into moving on to James and Albus, allowed to stay up past their usual bedtimes and pleased as anything for it. Ginny spared Sirius a grateful glance, while Harry turned to Bill and Fleur.  
  
"Lovely to see you again, 'Arry," Fleur said, kissing him on both cheeks.  
  
Harry smiled at her and shook Bill's hand. "Likewise."  
  
And it was. Ron and Hermione, George and Angelina, Percy and Audrey, Bill and Fleur: the only one missing was Charlie, who made it back from Romania so rarely, and of course Fred, whose loss in the war was a scar in the family that never fully healed.  
  
Not long after that, the other guests began arriving. Luna gushed over her god-daughter at length and Ginny smiled to see it. Seamus did his duty by the family before heading straight to the punch; Parvati had brought a few gifts for the children. As the marquee slowly filled, Harry watched Ginny carefully for signs of strain and told himself off repeatedly for wondering when Malfoy would appear.  
  
When Remus arrived, the whole greeting party became occupied, Sirius with his dear friend, Ginny with Andromeda who always loved babies. It afforded Harry the chance to speak to Teddy, for which he had been most eager.  
  
"You'll be all set to begin Healer training, then?" he asked, the kind of question family members are expected to use to break the ice.  
  
Teddy grinned. "I'm looking forward to it, Uncle Harry, I really I am."  
  
"It's a great profession," Harry said, his mind focused entirely on something else. "I meant to ask, did you not have a chance to respond to my letter?"  
  
Teddy frowned. "When did you send it?"  
  
There had of course been no letter. "Oh, before school ended. Perhaps the owl got confused and it was misdirected somehow. It was nothing of particular consequence."  
  
Teddy shook his head. "Sorry, Uncle Harry, I don't remember receiving it – how rude of me not to reply!"  
  
"I see – so you did not write to me from school?" Harry asked, his heart pounding.  
  
"I'm sorry, I meant to but I found the NEWTs took all the time I had. And then, well," Teddy blushed. "I know she's still a little young, but… Victoire Weasley is very nice, isn't she?"  
  
Harry's eyebrows raised themselves. "I've heard many good things about her, to be certain, but she is still young, as you say."  
  
Teddy blushed a little more. Harry looked around quickly; the others were still occupied so perhaps he could get away with asking the other question he so needed an answer to.  
  
"Would you have reason to write to Draco Malfoy at all?"  
  
Teddy looked uncomfortable at the mention of Malfoy and Harry's gut clenched as he wondered why. "I've met him a few times," Teddy said, guarded. "He is my cousin after all, though he sneers at me because of Father's condition and Mother's history." Her blood status, of course, Harry thought. "We do not correspond regularly, but he invited me to visit him at Malfoy Manor once or twice. I declined."  
  
"Quite right, Teddy," Harry said, though he was thinking about something else. "I'm sure many would tell you it would be a connection worth fostering, but if you do not care for his company then why seek it?"  
  
"In any case," Teddy went on, "there are many other things to talk of on an evening such as this."  
  
Harry smiled. "Perhaps it would behove you to pay your respects to Bill and Fleur Weasley?" he said, teasing a little for the pleasure of watching Teddy's face flush with colour.  
  
It was only after another hour of such greetings that Harry was able to snatch a few moments alone, with the excuse of making sure Morag, the nanny, got the children back to Grimmauld Place before the evening's festivities really began. He took the four of them to the Apparition point, kissed the boys and Lily gently, all three of them very nearly asleep, and watched them Disapparate.  
  
Once they were gone, he allowed himself a long, shuddering breath, pulling the summer air deep into his lungs.  
  
So Malfoy had simply used an enchanted quill to forge Teddy's handwriting. That explained it. Another shameful secret could perhaps remain buried.  
  
The evening was warm, and Harry had found it pleasant before, but all at once it rather seemed suffocating. Harry stepped further into the gardens, telling himself to stop thinking of Malfoy even as he wondered why he had not yet arrived.  
  
"…disgrace the family," came a voice and Harry instinctively ducked behind a nearby tree.  
  
Lord Malfoy and Draco were walking up from the next Apparition point; Draco was in front, evidently trying to outrun the lecture he was receiving. Crabbe was behind them, but Lady Malfoy was nowhere in sight and Harry wondered why she had not chosen to attend.  
  
"I am doing nothing, Father," Draco was insisting mutinously.  
  
"That is rather my point, Draco," Lord Malfoy said waspishly. "You are not taking responsibility for any of our estates, you are not taking your obligations to the Wizengamot seriously, you are not interested in preserving pure-blood traditions. You have spent the last month or more in what amounts to little more than a sulk and it is unbecoming."  
  
"Yes, yes, Father, I know what 'becomes' a Malfoy," Draco sneered.  
  
Lord Malfoy responded in a way Harry would not have expected; he raised the cane he always carried and swept in front of his son. In another motion, he had cracked it full force into Draco's body, winding him.  
  
Harry flinched, not knowing what to do, wishing he was not witnessing this scene.  
  
"Now listen to me, Draco," Lord Malfoy said, his voice deadly. "You can indulge your dissolute habits as long as you are discreet; all men have weaknesses. But if you sincerely believe that I will not cut you off should you fail to show more interest in your family's affairs then you are sorely mistaken. I will not have you ruin in one generation what it took nineteen to build!"  
  
Draco, gasping, forced himself to stand. "Yes, Father," he forced out though his eyes watered and his body language was full of misery.  
  
"Good. Now for Merlin's sake, let us put an end to this. If you embarrass the family tonight it will be in front of the entire wizarding world, Draco, and that will be the end of you. Is that understood?"  
  
"Yes, Father," Draco said again, and Harry couldn't watch further. He ducked back fully behind the tree, leaning on it as he gasped out his sympathy for Malfoy, a sympathy he would never have anticipated feeling.  
  
Footsteps moved away and towards the marquee. Harry composed himself for a moment, then emerged.  
  
Crabbe was waiting for him. "Enjoy the show, did you, Potter?" he sneered.  
  
"Not especially, since you ask," Harry said truthfully.  
  
Crabbe frowned as though that was not the response he had expected. "I will not tell Lord Malfoy that you are a common eavesdropper as it would serve only to embarrass him. You are too old to require correction like a child; show some self-discipline."  
  
Harry had grown inured to Death Eater venom during the war; he did not react to it now. "It was not my intention to eavesdrop. And if a gentleman is expected to discipline himself, I do wonder that Lord Malfoy chooses rather to discipline his grown son in public. Good evening, Mr Crabbe."  
  
"Potter," he snarled as Harry brushed past him. "I will give you yet another piece of advice you will not heed, though it may be the best advice you will ever receive."  
  
Harry stood his ground. "And what might that be?"  
  
"Do not put yourself in a position where you are between Lord Malfoy and his son."  
  
"It is far from being my intention," Harry spat out before he stalked back to the marquee.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
"There you are!" Ginny said, all smiles when Harry returned. "The last of the guests just arrived so I believe we may proceed." She lowered her voice to say, "The Malfoy family is here – did you know Sirius had invited them?"  
  
"He said they are too powerful to be given such a direct cut," Harry responded, just as quietly.  
  
"Lord Malfoy has done much to try and discredit my father," Ginny said, frowning. This was news to Harry – he knew that Arthur had faced some opposition at the Ministry but he had not known until this moment that Lord Malfoy was behind it.  
  
"Perhaps bridges might be built?" he suggested feebly. "I am sorry, Ginny, none of this has been about what we want for ourselves."  
  
It was inevitable that this was the moment when his eyes should land on Malfoy. He must have spoken briefly with Sirius, or perhaps even Ginny. Harry's stomach turned to ice.  
  
"Did you speak with his son?"  
  
Ginny seemed surprised by the question. "Not for long. He tried to charm me but it was so obviously insincere that I wonder he went to the trouble."  
  
Harry felt something within him squirm. He looked back at Malfoy to find Malfoy staring at him, an expression on his face that Harry could not identify. Instinctively, his arm went around Ginny and Malfoy's face darkened before he turned away.  
  
"They are nothing but trouble," Harry said, holding Ginny tightly. "And tomorrow we will be rid of them."

  
  
**End of Book One**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, it's a tease. Enjoy!

**Interlude**

_HMP Pentonville, Summer 1852_  
  
"Mr Potter!"  
  
Harry looked up from where he lay curled up on the stone floor, nothing but some filthy straw to keep the cold from seeping into his bones. It would be far worse come winter, though he would most likely be gone by then.

Smith sneered at him. "You've a visitor," he said, reaching for the chains around Harry's wrists. Farley stood close behind him, as though Harry could have summoned the will to break for freedom.  
  
Once the chains had been removed, Harry rubbed at his wrists. The manacles had chafed at the skin and he had sores where they had been.  
  
Harry tried to stand, but his legs found it difficult to cooperate. The guards at once grabbed him and lifted him up.  
  
"He doesn't half smell," Smith opined as they hauled him towards what Harry supposed must be the visiting rooms.

Harry would once have been mortified to hear someone speak of him so. These days any number of indignities had been heaped upon him, and he could no longer bring himself even to flinch. He was, though, capable of gratitude when Farley snapped, “Shut it, Smith. You wouldn’t smell so hot either if they wouldn’t let you bathe.”

Harry’s mind was racing as he wondered who had come to see him. Who could have afforded the bribes, or held sufficient sway to ensure that they would be permitted access to such a prisoner?   
  
The distance was insufficient for him to be able to finish his mind's feverish speculations: he was permitted to walk under his own power into the stone room at the end of the corridor, considerably cleaner than any he had walked through to arrive at this point. As the door closed behind him he looked into the one face he had been so desperate to see.  
  
"You came," he breathed, and felt the sharp sting of tears behind his eyes as he looked into the face he had feared he would never see again.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Book Two**   
  
_We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret.  
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Grey_

  
  
  
  
_Godric's Hollow, September 1851_  
  
Harry swallowed his brandy. Was it his fourth or fifth? He had lost count.  
  
Ginny frowned at him from across the room. "Are you quite well? You have been very quiet these last few weeks."  
  
Harry gave a half-laugh. "Oh, it is nothing of consequence. Just that… Well, in town I was desperate for the quiet of home and now I find myself wishing again for the bustle of town."  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "I am sorry that the quiet life is so irksome."  
  
Harry looked at her sharply but, sensing nothing but humour, smiled at her wryly. "At the very least you are more like yourself, which is delightful."  
  
Ginny laughed. "Indeed, I feel much more at peace. Oh – Mother intends to visit us this week."  
  
"Again?" The word slipped out before Harry could quite catch it.  
  
A frown crossed Ginny's face. "You are displeased?"  
  
"I love your family," was all the answer Harry had to offer. Molly had been such a comfort to Ginny he could hardly gainsay a visit, despite his rising irritation at the influence she exerted. Harry had loved Molly Weasley as the mother he had been denied since Ron had first taken him for a visit at the age of twelve, but he had not married Ginny hoping that she would become her. Indeed he had loved Ginny for her differences from her mother – her razor sharp wit, her focus on the outside world rather than her family. Her bright vibrancy was what had attracted him but that Ginny seemed to grow further away with each passing year.  
  
"Why don't I invite Ron and Hermione as well?" Ginny asked, her eyes still on him. "I know you miss my brother's company."  
  
Harry managed a sincere smile at that. "I know he is busy but you are right, it is always a pleasure to see them both."  
  
Ginny nodded. "You wish for an occupation," she said, reiterating something that had been discussed repeatedly. Harry might pick Ron's brains for more tales of his work with the but he himself had a great deal to do in the coming seasons.  
  
"The Wizengamot will return to session after the Season is over," Sirius had told him. "I must take my seat - perhaps you should come and observe? And of course there is the matter of the property in Hogsmeade and how it should be administered – I know it's tedious, Harry, but it must be done. Just learn about it once and then turn it over to a manager as I did!" Sirius had patted his shoulder and grimaced in an odd kind of resigned contentment, but Harry could not imagine living life as Sirius did, always rattling around in Grimmauld Place with only the occasional visit to a friend breaking the tedium of routine. No wonder Sirius was always desperate for a visit from himself or Remus.  
  
Sirius had been quite the rebel in his early years, or so Harry had heard from those who had seen it. But there was little evidence of it left in his character beyond a certain restlessness that Harry could see was what drove him into gaming hells and gentlemen's clubs. Idleness was unnatural for all of them.  
  
"I would wish for many things," Harry said with a sigh. "Though we are blessed, in our way."  
  
"Three strong children! I should say so," Ginny said. She lay her head on the arm of the chaise-longue and Harry was abruptly reminded of another day, another chaise-longue and the length and beauty of Malfoy's throat. He forced it aside as she continued, "Visitors will help, you will see."  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Ginny's words were far from prophetic. Ron had apologetically declined their invitation, citing an unusually high caseload and so it had been Molly alone who had come.  
  
Harry remembered finding Molly's slightly overbearing mothering deeply comforting as a child. Now there were many moments when he could cheerfully have strangled her. She had advice for Ginny on everything and it was turning Ginny into someone he didn't recognise.  
  
Worse, Harry remembered a time when Ginny would have met his gaze and rolled her eyes at her mother's effusiveness. They would have grinned together and understood that while Molly was only offering help out of love, they would find their own way to raise their children. Now though Ginny listened, and when Harry tried to catch her eye she frowned at him.  
  
"And of course, you are getting plenty of rest I hope, Ginny dear?" Molly fussed. "You had such a difficult time with Lily after all."  
  
And there it was, Harry's guilt, a yawning chasm waiting to swallow him. His wife had nearly died and all he could do was resent her for being other than she had been.  
  
"I rest as much as I can bear," Ginny responded, her voice a little tart. "But truth be told, Mother, I find that I would rather spend as much time as possible with the children."  
  
"Quite right," Molly nodded. "These years are so precious. Before you know it your children are grown and married. But you must take care of yourself!"  
  
"I do not exert myself," Ginny argued.  
  
"I can verify that," Harry interjected, recognising his cue. "Ginny does not exert herself unduly, though she often does walk about the property for the sake of fresh air and exercise."  
  
"You should take a holiday!" Molly exclaimed as though she had just thought of it; Harry rather suspected that this had been her agenda in coming. He again strained to meet Ginny's eye but she was frowning.  
  
"I do not believe I would like to spend much time away from home having only recently returned," she said.  
  
"But I hear that there are several resorts where taking the waters has quite the same effect as the strongest potions!" Molly cried. "Why, consider Strathpeffer in the Highlands – good mountain air, a strong wizarding presence as the town is still rather inaccessible by Muggle means, and a spa where you would be able to relax, indulge yourself a little. Perhaps Arthur and I might even join you! We could look after the children while you look after yourself."  
  
Ginny nodded slowly. "That does have a certain appeal. Harry, what do you think?"  
  
Harry sighed inwardly. "If you wish it, my dear," he said weakly.  
  
"Then it's settled!" Molly said with a smile. "We'll all go."  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
If boredom had been evident at Godric's Hollow, it became Harry's constant companion on their holiday to the Highlands.  
  
That Strathpeffer was beautiful, Harry could not deny. The large hotels in the modern style were at odds with the sweeping hills and gnarled old trees surrounding the town. It was quite the resort, with the pump room and numerous Healers available to suggest the best relaxation techniques. Molly was as good as her word; she took over the care of the children so that the nanny was able to go home to her family for a few weeks, leaving Ginny free to divide her time between them and the sulphuric waters which everyone kept insisting held great restorative properties.  
  
Harry spent most of his time on long walks through the countryside. There was a thriving wizarding social scene to be found but Ginny eschewed it at Molly's insistence and Harry felt uncomfortable without her. It was London all over again, Ginny essentially indisposed and Harry left whiling away the time.  
  
"Would you like to accompany me to the Celtic standing stones?" he would ask.  
  
"Not this morning," Ginny would reply. "There is a treatment of the skin I am to take."  
  
Harry would go alone, stare at the Eagle stone and listen to the local guide tell him of the legends. The Brahn Seer, a local clairvoyant, had made a prophecy about what would happen should the stone fall and Harry found himself almost wishing that it would, that the lovely valley would be destroyed by flooding just so he could go home.  
  
He was alone most every day but he still felt stifled by the very presence of his wife and in-laws. He imagined Ron occupied with work, Hermione with her causes, Dean and Seamus busy with their estates, everyone with something to do, someone to talk to, and he wondered how he had ended so trapped, so unfulfilled. There had to be something more, something that Harry could grasp that would make him feel more than this endless emptiness and urge to escape from it all. Would he become as Sirius was, filling the hollow inside himself with drinking and gambling? Would he become like Malfoy instead?  
  
Harry shivered though the autumn day was sunny and temperate. That thing just out of reach, he needed it or he would never be complete.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Harry steeled himself through dinner that night and after for the usual chatter between Molly and Ginny about the children and the treatments. Arthur would have been a pleasing addition to the party but he too had had to work, his position at the Ministry not allowing for long impromptu holidays and so Harry had to sit while the ladies virtually ignored him in their conversations.  
  
Molly retired early that night and Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief. He cared for the woman, truly. Her kindness in his younger years had earned her a special place for him. But since he had married her daughter, he had come in once too often for the kind of ‘advice’ she offered her sons and it was hard not to see it as an imposition.

It had perhaps not been as inward as he had hoped, as the first thing Ginny said to him on returning from saying her goodnights was, "You are being rather rude to my mother, Harry."  
  
"It isn't my intention," Harry said, startled.  
  
"You barely contributed three sentences to the conversation," Ginny pointed out.

"It didn't seem as though any contribution from me was required," Harry said blandly. “The two of you could speak of the children and the domestic until the end of days – so be it, but I fail to see what I could possibly add to the conversation. Should you wish to speak of other matters, I am sure you will let me know.”

  
"I am attempting to plan for the future while I recover my strength!" Ginny snapped. "I am sorry it is so boring for you."  
  


"You were the one adamant that you needed no such break.”

“Perhaps I was trying to be too stiff upper lip. Like you always are.”

There was something to that, perhaps. Harry sighed. "I merely wish to have my wife back. You remember when we used to enjoy one another's company? When we used to talk about sports or some interesting new development in magic or politics?"  
  
"I am tired, Harry," Ginny said quietly. "It is pleasant to have nothing to worry about beyond resting and I am sure that it is terribly dull for a man of your position…"  
  
"This is not about my position!" Harry cried. "Ginny, I know you need time but I… I feel so…"  
  
"I thought this trip was about _my_ feelings," Ginny replied flatly. "I nearly died, Harry, and I am sorry if the changes wrought in me inconvenience you."  
  
What could he say to that?  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
That night, Harry could not sleep. The quarrel with Ginny weighed on him; she wanted him to be nicer to her mother, she wanted him to show more genuine interest in her and their family, she wanted him to show her more understanding. But Harry was _trying_. He made an effort to be courteous to Molly even if he no longer always felt warmth towards her. He spent far more time with his children than most of the men he knew. And he missed his wife while it seemed as though she merely wanted him to cut off more and more of himself.  
  
The pregnancy had been hard even before the scare for Ginny's life. Harry had hoped that with some time she would be again the Ginny he remembered but it seemed that was not a reasonable expectation after all.  
  
She was angry with him, but if he tried any harder to please her he was going to have the last of his will smothered out of him. He had to find a way to tell her what it was he wanted.  
  
Of course, before he could, he would have to work it out.  
  
He remembered school, brilliant days of Quidditch and visits to Hogsmeade and the freedom of his teenage years. Was it really true that his school days were to be the best of his life? He had done his duty in the war despite not being of age. Was the rest of his life to be defined by duty?  
  
He'd had such hopes for their marriage. He'd loved that Ginny seemed to understand him instinctively. He'd appreciated the tomboy in her even as so many of her peers turned into proper 'ladies', who tended to bore Harry to tears. He'd married for love and never imagined lying next to her at night feeling lonely.  
  
He couldn’t bear it. Silently, Harry crept from the bedroom into his dressing room, leaving Ginny curled on her side facing away from his side of the bed.  
  
The hotel foyer was still lit with gleaming charms when Harry made it there, the drawing rooms still open, the concierge desk still manned.  
  
"May I help you, sir?" began the chain of events which ended with Harry outside on the terrace, cigarette in his hand, the cool Highland air soothing him. He pulled in another deep breath of smoke to clear his lungs and sighed.  
  
In the morning, I am going to return to Godric's Hollow, Harry said to himself. I am going to go from there back to London, where I will spend more time with Sirius, learning properly how to manage the Black properties.  
  
Many husbands lived apart from their wives, for reasons of business or finance or simple inclination and it would not seem strange. I'll see the children, he told himself. I'll see them all the time. But the words sounded hollow even in his own head. It was their mother, not he, who was the most intimate part of their lives and Harry knew it.  
  
When he told her of his intentions Ginny would probably argue with him; he didn't know if that would be better or worse than her meekly allowing him to go. And with that he became irrationally angry again: he didn't know the woman who had replaced his wife. He didn't know how to please her and he no longer wanted to try.  
  
"Mr Potter," a voice said, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to face Malfoy's dark-skinned friend from the opera. His breath stuttered.  
  
"Mr Zambini," Harry responded.  
  
"Zabini actually; but of course we are not formally acquainted," Zabini said. He pulled a fine silver cigarette case from his pocket. "I would offer one to you but I see that you are already indulging. Perhaps you would like to try one of these presently. They are imported from Italy, very fine indeed." He lit the cigarette.  
  
"That is very kind," Harry said automatically. "I confess I find myself at a disadvantage; I have been here for a fortnight but this is the first time I have encountered anyone familiar. I had not thought to find company at all."  
  
Zabini's eyes gleamed. "Ah – well, society comes alive after dark, as is its wont in any location. There are a few of us here from town. Myself, Nott – Malfoy, of course."  
  
"Of course," Harry echoed faintly as the news sank in.

  
Zabini shrugged, a very Gallic gesture which caught Harry's attention – where exactly was this man from? But he was continuing to speak. "My mother has been here for her health since July, with Lady Malfoy as her particular friend. They found themselves liking it so well they saw fit to summon Draco and I. It is strange how we men must live by the whims of women, is it not?"  
  
Harry didn't quite know how to respond to that. "Mm," was all he could offer, non-committal as possible, taking another long pull on his cigarette in lieu of speaking.  
  
"Will you be here very much longer, Potter?" Zabini was asking.  
  
"The length of our stay is not yet determined," Harry said, his mind whirling. Malfoy was here? All the more reason to leave at once for home. But Harry was tired of making nothing but sensible decisions, tired of doing his duty, doing what was expected of him.  
  
"Then you should join us for cards tomorrow night," Zabini said. His teeth caught the light as he smiled. There was something of amusement in his expression but Harry did not have enough time to dwell on it as on turning back to face Zabini, his eye lit on the window into the hotel's reading room.  
  
Draco Malfoy sat there on a brown high-backed leather chair, his pale skin luminous in the lamplight. Harry swallowed as his throat felt tight. Malfoy was sitting with one leg draped over a chair arm, arrogant insouciance evident in every line of his body. Harry remembered his determined passion in the carriage and in the Hogs Head, his defiant posture as his father tried to bend his will.  
  
I _shall_ have him, Harry thought with a mutinous determination he had not felt since his brief rebellion at the age of fourteen. I shall.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh a day late! Sorry!

Harry had never been one for dwelling on decisions once made. At heart he was a man of action.  
  
Which is why when Draco Malfoy returned to his suite that evening, Harry was waiting for him in the hotel corridor.  
  
Malfoy made his way a little haltingly down the hallway, clearly a little worse for Firewhiskey. He seemed completely absorbed in his own thoughts, and didn't see Harry at all.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry rapped out when it seemed that Malfoy was going to go to his bedroom without registering his presence.  
  
Malfoy turned, a little confused. His eyes widened. " _Potter_?"  
  
Harry nodded as Malfoy's jaw worked as though he was stuck between a number of reactions and finding it impossible to settle on just one.  
  
"I'm asleep already," Malfoy said to himself. "I'm asleep and I'm dreaming."  
  
"Do you dream of me often?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.  
  
Malfoy laughed. "Perhaps you _are_ real, or surely you would know that."  
  
Harry had been lingering in the corridor for the better part of an hour waiting for Malfoy to decide to retire. The alcohol seemed to have smoothed his usual sharp edges away. Harry reached out on impulse to touch his face.  
  
Malfoy flinched away as though Harry had tried to strike him. "Merlin's beard, you really are here." He looked a little nauseous at the realisation, and took a step back from Harry. "Why?"  
  
"Ginny wanted to take the waters."  
  
"Ah? So did Mother." Malfoy's eyes flickered between Harry's eyes and his mouth. His face relaxed. "Do I assume you're here to ask me not to speak of your interest in the windward passage?"  
  
"What?" Harry started. "No, I… I never thought you would tell anyone about that. No, that's not why I'm here."  
  
Malfoy smirked. "So then you must be here because…?"  
  
Harry had earned his reputation as one of the bravest wizards of his generation. But that courage, so typically Gryffindor, always seemed to desert him when he had most need of it. He merely stood there in the hotel corridor, his eyes fixed on the gas lamp illuminating the fine patterns of the wallpaper.  
  
Malfoy shook his head, his smirk never fading though Harry would have sworn there was a spark of anger in his steel-grey eyes. "Go back to bed, Potter," he said as he walked past Harry and to his own disappointment, Harry let him go.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Harry went back to his suite furious with himself. He had made his decision, he _had_ and he knew what he wanted so why had his resolve abandoned him in that crucial moment?  
  
Ginny was already in her own room on the other side of the suite, which was just as well: he knew not how their next conversation might be. 

At once his mind turned back to that day at the Hog's Head. Malfoy had been kind, that was what Harry remembered. That was what had surprised him. Malfoy had not been rough with him, had not shouted at him or reacted badly when Harry had called him names. Malfoy had forced the issue, certainly, but he had not in the end pushed Harry further than he was able to go.  
  
Now that he was no longer fighting himself, he had thought he would be able to meet Malfoy without fear. He had confronted the dark heart within himself and believed it would cease to have power over him.  
  
But something had held him back and now he was right back where he had been, agonising and impotent. Harry was so sick of himself.  
  
He slept but fitfully; the benefit was that he was up and out for the day before Ginny had even stirred.  
  
He went to the breakfast room to eat and moved into the hotel foyer thereafter with the intention of taking another walk.  
  
The foyer was not, however, unoccupied. Harry was up considerably earlier than usual that morning and had managed to time his departure with that of a tall, slender blonde woman giving orders to a house-elf.  
  
"This will not do at all, Muffy. Here I am entering a public place and I find a hole in my shawl. Now I want you to fetch me another shawl, in the same hue. While I am out I expect you to mend this, and any other damage done to any item in my wardrobe. And when you are done, report to the Head Elf at the Manor for punishment."  
  
Harry frowned in disapproval – this was precisely the way of dealing with a servant that Hermione campaigned against. However, he had known Sirius speak to Kreacher in much the same way, and made an effort to hide his discomfort.  
  
"Yes, my Lady," Muffy squeaked before she disappeared.  
  
The woman stood and Harry recognised Lady Malfoy. He looked a little too long and she turned, eyes landing on him. Harry bowed instinctively.  
  
"You bow and yet I do not believe we are acquainted," Lady Malfoy said, a slightly scornful look on her face.  
  
"Forgive me, Lady Malfoy," Harry stuttered. "I am acquainted with your husband and son, but I…"  
  
"Ah?" Lady Malfoy scanned Harry from the tips of his dragon-hide boots to the top of his stubbornly messy hair. "Well, such a meeting as this may allow for conversation, Mr Potter, despite the lack of introduction. Tell me, you are here with your lady wife?"  
  
"Indeed," Harry said. "She is taking the waters."  
  
"A fine idea, and one which you can see I share. You keep yourself occupied in the mornings? That is well," Lady Malfoy said, without waiting for a response. "If a gentleman neither shoots nor writes letters nor does anything to see to his own occupation then he is nothing but an intolerable nuisance to the ladies of his household."  
  
"Er," Harry said when mercifully he was saved.  
  
"Narcissa, dear!"  
  
Lady Malfoy smiled like a shark. "Do excuse me, Mr Potter."  
  
Harry bowed at once as Lady Malfoy called out, "Kore, do show some decorum dear." 'Kore' was a magnificent dark-skinned woman most likely ages with Lady Malfoy, but her hair and skin were those of a woman barely thirty. Her dress was fabulously _on dit_ , her hair curled to frame her face to perfection and she was wearing rouge, a fashion Molly had often referred to with scorn. She was overdone and extraordinary.  
  
From behind the enormous bustle of her ornate dress, Zabini manoeuvred himself into the room and grinned. "Up early, Potter. Did you think about my invitation?"  
  
"I did, thank you," Harry said.  
  
"Potter?" Kore repeated with some interest.  
  
A sly look on his face, Zabini said, "Mr Harry Potter, may I present my mother, most recently Mrs Blishwick but prior to that, Mrs Prince, Mrs Thurkell and a variety of others though in my heart she will always be Mrs Zabini."  
  
"Blaise," Lady Malfoy said reprovingly.  
  
"Manners, my son," Kore said, looking Harry up and down with frank assessment.  
  
Harry honestly couldn't decide which of the women was the more unsettling: Lady Malfoy in her strict adherence to decorum or Kore Zabini, looking at him as though he were something to eat.  
  
"Mother, please let Mr Potter alone, he is here to support his wife in regaining her strength," Zabini said in exasperation.  
  
Kore looked only slightly disappointed. "In any case, we should be going or we shall be late for our treatments this morning and Mr Urquhart was _so_ looking forward to seeing us there."  
  
"I have no doubt," Zabini said, still looking at Harry. "Do join us this evening, Mr Potter, it will make it quite the party."  
  
Harry rallied as best he was able. "I shall endeavour to do so!" he managed before he found himself alone and was able to make his escape to the billiard room.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Harry managed to avoid Ginny for the entire day. He knew it was rude but he had other things on his mind. He chose his attire for that evening with more care than he had used since choosing his wedding clothes, an analogy that did not sit easy on his conscience.  
  
Malfoy was always colourful and so Harry chose a burgundy waistcoat and cravat to wear beneath his tailcoat; he had purchased matching gloves but never worn them as Ron had declared them 'dandyish'. He thought perhaps that on this occasion that would be appropriate.  
  
Carefully timing his arrival to be a few minutes late, Harry was confronted with a room filled with cigar smoke and the scent of brandy wine. Four tables were laid out for various card games, and he did not recognise most of those present.  
  
Malfoy was there with Zabini and his other usual companion, the man with the protruding teeth. Malfoy himself was dressed in powder blue and looked as luminous as ever. It seemed he was in the middle of losing a great deal of money at the card table; Harry took a deep breath and crossed the room, telling himself that this time, he could not falter.  
  
"Good evening Lord Draco," Harry offered as he approached the table; he smiled at Zabini but did not greet him.  
  
Malfoy's eyes flickered up to Harry's face, lingering a moment before returning to his cards. "Zabini, Nott, Mr Harry Potter. Consider yourselves acquainted."  
  
That was far from how Harry was accustomed to being introduced to people, particularly at this level of society, but neither of the other men batted an eye. Zabini smiled.  
  
"Oh, Potter and I have already met," he said airily.  
  
Malfoy's head snapped up. His eyes were narrowed. "Oh?"  
  
Zabini smiled almost benevolently. "It was I who suggested he might like to join us this evening."  
  
Malfoy glared at Zabini, who smiled benignly. "He met the Black Widow and of course the lovely Lady Malfoy. I suspect the tabbies thoroughly savaged him, did they not, Potter? But of course I was there to save you."  
  
Harry frowned, trying to discern Zabini's meaning even as Nott's eyes widened.  
  
"Isn't he the one…?" Nott began but Malfoy cut him off.  
  
"Not finished yet."  
  
Harry looked at Malfoy, then Nott, then back to Malfoy.  
  
"We're not finished our hand of cards," Malfoy said at Harry's quizzical look. "But it won't take long." That last seemed to be directed to Nott who giggled nervously, a strange high-pitched sound.  
  
"I fold," Zabini said, smoothly drawing Harry's attention. "Well, Potter. We were just talking about the memorial ceremony, as it happens. We all heard you speak, of course. Responsibility, strength of character. Very important values, to be certain. We must accept all the consequences of our actions, would you not agree?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said, "of course."  
  
"Including those we cannot predict?" Nott chimed in.  
  
"Theo," Malfoy said, his tone a warning.  
  
Zabini's eyes widened in mock-innocence. "We are merely asking Potter whether he agrees that one should be expected to accept responsibility for all the consequences of one's actions, whether intended or not, whether anticipated or unexpected?"  
  
Harry looked between the three of them. Something was happening here that he did not understand. "We are responsible for all the consequences of actions we make," he said finally.  
  
"See, Malfoy?" Zabini raised a cool eyebrow.  
  
"I see you trying to distract me from the cards, Blaise."  
  
"I'm no longer playing this hand, Draco, if you recall." Zabini looked at Harry. "I could instead look after our new friend."  
  
"Would you like that, Potter?" Malfoy asked Harry with the tone of one laying down a challenge.  
  
Harry looked around from one face to another. "I think perhaps you are all the worse for drink."  
  
"Oh, no, the better for drink!" Nott chimed in.  
  
Harry looked at Malfoy and would not look away, willing Malfoy to look back at him. Malfoy fidgeted under his gaze before finally throwing down his cards. "Very well," he said, standing abruptly and stalking away.  
  
Harry looked at Zabini in confusion. "I thought you invited me because I would be welcome here."  
  
Zabini shrugged. "I thought you would be. Draco is so tiresome these days – I had rather hoped that you would be able to divert him." The tone in which Zabini said the last two words made Harry's hackles rise.  
  
"Is that so?" he said quietly, and his tone must have been dangerous because Zabini and Nott both looked at him sharply, the humour fading from their faces. "I beg you will excuse me."  
  
Harry was after Malfoy in a matter of moments, through the door he had stepped through, out into the corridor and after a moment's thought, into the billiard room.  
  
Malfoy stood by the table with his back to the door. He was rolling the ball across the table to bounce against the edge back into his hand.

  
Harry closed the door behind him and with a whispered charm, locked it firmly. "What exactly was that about, Malfoy?"  
  
Malfoy half laughed, half-sneered. "You interrupt an evening with my friends…"  
  
"I was invited."  
  
"Not by me."  
  
Harry felt his eyes narrow. "Suddenly my company is unwelcome?"  
  
"I don't know what you want," Malfoy said, his shoulders seeming to tighten inwards. "You… I don't know what you want."  
  
"No?" Harry sighed. "Do you need me to say it? I want you." The words were so much easier than Harry had thought, a pleasure to say, in fact and so he said them again: "I want you. I want you to touch me. I'm so tired of denying it, Draco." Harry's voice caught on Malfoy's given name, a little hitch in the middle, but it made Malfoy's fingers fumble the billiard ball; he had to brace himself, both hands on the edge of the billiard table. His back was a rigid arch. His hair and the back of his neck glowed in the soft light.  
  
"You're beautiful," Harry said quietly. "I always saw that but I didn't understand why it disturbed me so much before. I know I said terrible things before but… I want to come alive, Draco and I think with you I can."  
  
"And how am I supposed to react to this tender confession?" Malfoy said, though it sounded as though the words were being torn out of him. He still wouldn't turn to face Harry, still wouldn't let Harry see his face. "Am I supposed to melt into your arms? Am I supposed to mutter 'oh Harry' like some virtuous maiden?"  
  
"You want to know that I mean it," Harry surmised. "I do. Let me show you."  
  
In two strides, Harry was across the room with his hands on Malfoy pulling him upright, pulling him bodily into a kiss. Harry's hands found their way down Malfoy's body, curving into the small of his back with a thumb tracing the line of his spine, the other hand resting on the curve of his buttocks. Harry groaned and pulled Malfoy harder against him.  
  
But Malfoy was pushing at his shoulders. "No," he whispered, and Harry let go at once.  
  
Malfoy wrenched himself away, tension in every line of his body. Harry swallowed hard against a rising tightness in his throat as Draco deliberately put a distance between them.  
  
"Draco," Harry said, his heart in his mouth. "Draco, don't you want-"  
  
Malfoy's head jerked up then to look at Harry and Harry saw his expression: confused, shocked and helpless. At once he understood: Draco was used to being the one in control and Harry had challenged that. He'd blurred the lines by becoming the pursuer. For a moment Harry wondered if it would mean Draco would no longer desire him and he felt sick, but then Draco made a terrible noise deep in his throat and then he was kissing Harry again, both hands on his face, pulling him closer and closer.  
  
Harry kissed him back just as fiercely, just as urgently. A leap of desire rising inside, Harry clutched at Draco's hair, his face, his clothes. The exhilaration of the first time returned but it was no longer the terrified thrill of jumping from a tower - it was instead the infinite freedom of the first flight on a broomstick.  
  
Harry steeled his resolve and reached down to cup Draco's cock. Draco groaned and clutched again at Harry's face; Harry for his part found that he rather liked the heat and weight in his hand, and the sounds he could elicit from Draco by varying the pressure.  
  
"You locked the door?" Draco gasped out between kisses.  
  
"I did," Harry replied, fascinated by the sensitive spots on Draco's neck which made him shiver.  
  
"Right," Draco murmured into Harry's mouth, and then there were no words for a while as coats and waistcoats were removed. Harry's fingers longed to find Draco's skin but there was still not enough time to fully enjoy removing Draco's clothes.  
  
Draco pushed at Harry's shoulders, manoeuvring him against the billiard table. Harry wondered if he was about to be pressed down into it and a leap of renewed fear made him tense, but Draco soothed him with a kiss to the throat before meeting his eyes with the promise of pleasure and dropping to his knees.  
  
Harry's breath caught as Draco efficiently undid his trousers and slipped his underwear down. His cock sprang free, already hard, and Draco weighed it in his hand. Harry closed his eyes against the pleasure, digging his fingers into the billiard table, grateful that Draco had known he would not be able to stand for long.  
  
"Look," Draco ordered Harry and he complied, watching Draco part those perfect lips, stretching them around Harry's cock. In this moment he was lovelier and more obscene even than Harry had been able to imagine. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, his eyes on Harry's own the whole time. His grey eyes were devoid of their usual wicked gleam, instead glazed with desire as though Draco was unable to see Harry despite gazing right at him, as though he were unable to see anything at all.  
  
Harry's whole skin felt skin flushed and damp with sweat as Draco finally broke eye contact to swallow him down to the root. Harry could do nothing but throw back his head with a choked, broken-off cry, his hands opening and closing reflexively before he gave in and buried them in Draco's hair, thrusting into Draco's throat until he was coming. Draco gave a moan of appreciation as the hot flood filled his mouth and Harry opened his eyes again to watch Draco lick him clean, his eyes on Harry's face again, his own hand stroking himself to completion.  
  
"Draco," Harry gasped out, watching him. "Draco."  
  
Draco came on an all-but-silent gasp and after a moment's recovery he stood up, smiling his half-smile half-sneer inches from Harry's face. "Harry," he replied, and then they were kissing. Harry could taste himself salty on Draco's tongue and he would have expected to be revolted but instead he felt a fresh bolt of lust.  
  
"Where did you come from?" Harry whispered, looking at Draco with wonder.  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I often wonder the same, my family being as they are."  
  
Harry kissed Draco's mouth again gently, stroking his hands over the lines of Draco's chest. "I wish-"  
  
"What do you wish?" Draco asked, his expression of triumphant joy never changing. "I am in quite the good mood just at the moment and so I may grant it, if it is in my power."  
  
Harry kissed him, couldn't help it, kissed him again. "I wish I had a whole day with you," he said, unable to believe that he was daring. "I wish I could spend whole hours looking at you. Touching you."  
  
Draco smiled wider. "Ah, well, you are lucky then Potter for such a thing is indeed within my power. You see, I might take a fancy to go back to town for a spell," he said, nuzzling at the side of Harry's face. "If you were to be there too, minus your familial entourage, well, there would be plenty of time for us then."  
  
Harry looked at him and thought of all the responsibilities he had weighed against the sense of fulfilment he longed for and found himself denied. "Yes," he breathed into Draco's skin. "Yes, let's do that. Let's do exactly that."  
  
Draco tipped Harry's chin up and studied his face. "You really mean that," he said in a tone of mild surprise. "Don't you."  
  
Harry kissed Draco's wrist, turning to kiss palm and fingers and then to place it back against his cheek. "I mean it."  
  
Draco tried to smile again but there was something uncertain in it. "I asked you before if you knew what you were getting into."  
  
Harry could not look away from Draco's mouth, the mouth that had been on his, on his body, the mouth that had elicited such raw _want_. "I cannot know. But I believe I would pay any price to have you."  
  
Draco's eyes glittered but his voice was soft. "Be careful what you say, Potter."  
  
"I mean it," Harry repeated, pulling Draco back down to kiss him again. "I do."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS NOTE: a kind reader pointed out a couple of inconsistencies in the plot and on looking back I realised I'd posted the chapter here below (in its rightful place) instead of chapter 3. So if something there was jarring, that would be why. I'm so sorry. I have no idea how I managed to do this.
> 
> Please if you get a chance go back and read chapter 3 as intended and accept many mea culpas on the confusion. I hope it won't spoil your enjoyment of the story.

Ginny kept looking at Harry across the breakfast table while her mother chattered away to her about the day's activities to come. Harry looked back and tried to smile at her kindly, but could feel the strain in the corners of his mouth and eyes. He looked into his teacup rather than look at her. The leaves seemed to make a sun, but when he tipped the cup again it shifted into a cross.

  
He poured himself another cup.  
  
Ginny still knew him well enough to hang back after Molly had departed from the breakfast table.  
  
"What is it, Harry?" she said. She sounded rather tired.  
  
Harry fiddled a little with his watch chain. "Ginny, I am restless here and I fear I am making you unhappy. That is the last thing I want. I have been fractious and I have been treating you unfairly in consequence, and I apologise."  
  
Ginny smiled. "Thank you, Harry. Let us begin anew…"  
  
"Ginny," Harry said, raising his hand in a quelling gesture, "I fear I cannot stay here."  
  
At this Ginny's eyes widened. "Oh," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor. Harry swallowed, waiting for her reaction.  
  
"Ginny, I fear I will add nothing to your time here and will in fact detract from your pleasure. Sirius still has the running of the Potter estate, but it is well past time for me to assume that responsibility and I therefore should return to town."  
  
Ginny looked at him then, eyes blazing. "Do you intend to remain there long?"  
  
Harry shuffled. "I do not know. Ginny, there may be a great deal of business in town…"  
  
Ginny snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "Dissembling does not suit you, husband, it never has."  
  
"Very well," Harry said, acknowledging the truth of her words. "Ginny, I am unhappy. I find that I lack for stimulation. I accept that mine is the responsibility and therefore mine must also be the remedy. I cannot think that my company is agreeable at present?"  
  
"Indeed not," Ginny said. It shouldn't have hurt, but it did.  
  
"Many couples live apart for reasons of business or convenience. Our situation in being together throughout our married life is atypical as you know."  
  
"Ron and Hermione are always together," Ginny said softly.  
  
"Ron and Hermione have an occupation and a cause respectively," Harry pointed out. He swallowed hard. What he was saying was true, it was all true, but the fact was that he was trying to leave his wife behind in order to begin an affair proper with a man. He almost wished that she would push her point and prevent him from going – but then he saw in her eyes that she meant to and he felt a flash of fear. Draco had promised him all he had hoped for and he would have it.  
  
"Ginny," he said at once, forcing himself to be gentle as he took her hand. "We are not being kind to each other. You know we are not. Let us give one another room to breathe. You are right – you have changed and I have changed and I feel we must each of us confront the changes within. Then, perhaps, we will be better able to take pleasure in each other's company."  
  
Ginny looked Harry full in the face. "And that is all it is?"  
  
Harry raised her fingers to his mouth, guilt gnawing at his gut. "That is all," he said, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
"Mr Potter," Draco said with a smirk when Harry found him. He was sitting by the entrance to the pump room reading the Quidditch scores and performing some rather complicated Arithmancy; Harry barely noticed anything save the shapes he made, slender fingers holding the top of his cane, lean limbs tucked beneath the table in front of him. He was wearing purple today and Harry longed to pull his cravat from about his neck to expose his throat.  
  
"Lord Draco," Harry responded quietly. "I will be departing for town on the morrow. I wonder if I might ask you to call upon me while I am there, as we discussed?"  
  
An eyebrow flickered. "I would never miss an engagement, Potter. It doesn't do to let down one's friends."  
  
"I quite agree," Harry said. His fingers itched for something to do; he longed to tug at Draco's clothes, to pull at his hair. He forced his fingers to stay clenched around the gloves in his hand. "Should I send an owl to let you know the particulars?"  
  
"That will do very well," Draco said, over emphasising the L sounds which had the effect of making his tongue curve over his front teeth. Harry's face flashed hot and Draco's eyes glittered.  
  
"I will see you soon," Harry said, his voice too heavy for the public place and the mid-morning air. He could think only of the pleasure to come and his relief at having managed to arrange things so well in so short a time.  
  
A flash of red hair in the corner of his eye made him look round sharply, but he could see no one familiar in his line of sight and was forced to conclude that he was suffering from mere paranoia.  
  
"Very soon, Potter," Draco said, drawing Harry's attention back to him. Harry tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it and simply excused himself.  
  
Ginny was right; Harry had no knack whatsoever for subterfuge.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Harry had always had more gold than he had known what to do with. His estates generated wealth, he had inherited cash from his father's family and, all things considered, he and Ginny lived quite modestly. The galleons were just sitting there. Harry now had reason to spend them.  
  
He took a room at the newly opened Great Western Royal Hotel. It was lavish and modern enough to satisfy what he had deduced of Draco's tastes in such things, the façade was accented with detailed carvings in each pediment. In the morning light, the white sandstone gleamed, the jewel of Praed Street. Inside the furnishings were rich and ostentatious – the lounge boasted a series of landscape friezes on the walls which seemed to Harry to have come from all four corners of the globe.  
  
It was utterly over the top, bordering on the vulgar – which seemed in tune with Draco's choice of companions and amusements if not his dress. Moreover, it was by Paddington Station, well away from Charing Cross Road and the entrance to Diagon Alley, or the Ministry at Whitehall. It was in all respects perfect.  
  
It was not a wizarding establishment, however, and Harry was therefore forced to make a detour in order to procure an owl. He wrote Draco a note which provided merely the name of the hotel, the address, the room number and the time, _nine o'clock_. Harry looked at it and wondered if he should write something more, some entreaty or greeting, something more than the bare bones. But he could think of nothing to excite Draco beyond what he had done already and was forced to be content with what he had written.  
  
He ate dinner in the hotel restaurant and then returned to his room, jittery, to await Draco's arrival.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
At ten minutes before nine o'clock, Harry adjusted the gas lamps to a lower level, to set a pleasing glow to the room. He smiled to himself and sat on the living area's couch, his robe discarded to reveal his shirt and waistcoat.  
  
At ten minutes past the hour, Harry checked his appearance in the looking glass above the fireplace. He had tried to straighten his hair as much as possible, present himself neatly. For the first time in his life he wished he was more handsome.  
  
At twenty minutes past the hour, Harry sighed and poured himself a glass of brandy from the decanter at the side of the room.  
  
At half past the hour, Harry lit his first cigarette.  
  
By the time ten o'clock arrived, Harry was beginning to worry. Where could Draco be?  
  
By eleven o'clock, Harry was still alone. He swallowed his third glass of brandy and stubbed out his sixth cigarette. Obviously Draco had found something better to do. Or perhaps he had never intended to come at all. Perhaps all this had just been a joke at Harry's expense. At that thought his fingers tightened on the glass in his hand and without thinking, he threw it into the fireplace, pleased by the sound of the glass breaking.  
  
"I say," a voice from the door drawled. "That was a little violent, Potter."  
  
Harry whirled; there at the open door, Draco stood at last. He was sheathed like a dagger in black: black slender cut trousers, a double-breasted black waistcoat with silver buttons, and a black cravat accented by his white shirt. The outfit was far from colourless, however, as his robe and cloak were in the brightest Vienna brocade Harry had ever seen, gold and red and bronze forming elaborate patterns around Draco's trim body.  
  


"Where have you been?" Harry snapped.  
  
Draco ignored him, entering the room and dropping hat and cane on the table, his cloak joining them. "Have you spent all evening smashing things?" He brushed past Harry to look into the fireplace. "If you have I suppose you must have repaired them."  
  
He smelled of cigar smoke, as though he had spent most of the evening in a gentleman's club. Harry swallowed. "Why are you so late?"  
  
Draco met his gaze, and gave an insouciant shrug. "I was delayed at the gaming tables. It was a winning streak, after all, and the allowance Father permits me would never enable the purchase of a robe such as this. Feel," he said, reaching for Harry's hands, "the lapels are velvet."  
  
Harry was not amused by this display at all. "So you kept me waiting for two hours because you were playing at cards? I have been sitting waiting for you all that time – why? Because it amused you to make me wait?"  
  
"Yes, well now you know how I felt the first time we arranged this," Draco said with a hint of bite in his tone. He tugged at his gloves, methodically pulling each finger loose in turn before pulling the glove free of his hand. "Aren't you lucky I'm letting you make it up to me," he said as he repeated the motion with the other glove, and dropped both on the floor.  
  
Harry looked away. "I'm risking a lot to be here with you," he said softly.  
  
"Yes, I know," Draco replied. "But that doesn't mean you're going to get it all your own way."  
  
The charge of the moment shifted as Harry looked back at Draco, who had reached to untie his cravat. With one hand he tugged at the knot, his clever fingers working to loosen it. Harry licked his lips unconsciously and Draco smiled.  
  
"This style of tying is the _Trone d'Amour_. Enthroned in love," he said, a strange smile curving his lips. "Strange choice of name, as it is regarded as so austere." With this he began unwrapping the black silk from around his throat. He pulled the cravat through his fingers, wrapped it around his knuckles and looked up at Harry, who looked from Draco's fingers to his face to his throat, exposed as his collar fell open.  
  
Draco undressed slowly, making it an art. His waistcoat was unbuttoned methodically, his shirt the same, until both were open over his slender frame, gaping widely. His grey eyes, silver in the lamplight, never looked away from Harry's own.  
  
Harry swallowed convulsively as Draco slid his dragonhide boots off his feet. He stood there then in his trousers and open shirt, his feet, wrists and throat bared.  
  
Harry crossed the space between them, the now-familiar rush of intoxicating lust taking over. He reached for Draco's hand and placed a kiss almost like a bite to his wrist.  
  
Draco licked his lips. His fingers uncurled and stroked the side of Harry's face. "We have the full night. I believe that was what you wanted."  
  
"Yes," Harry breathed, releasing Draco's wrist. "Yes, this is what I want." Just you, Harry thought. You, open to me. You, to become mine.  
  
"Then how would you like to begin?" The words were half promise, half challenge.  
  
His first dream of Malfoy came into his mind. "I would have you naked and lying on that bed so that I might look at you and touch you as I please." The words came so naturally it almost disturbed him – he had been so afraid, before, of confessing his desires but now it seemed impossible not to give voice to them.  
  
Draco looked towards the bedroom door and turned his body toward it, smirking back at Harry over his shoulder. As he walked to the door he slid his waistcoat and shirt from his shoulders, revealing the rippling muscles of his back as the clothes dropped to the floor. Then he was through the doorway and out of Harry's sight, though the sound of rustling fabrics still reached Harry's ears.  
  
Harry took a moment to compose himself, forcing himself to inhale slowly, trying to still his blood.  
  
It was effort wasted. The second he entered the bedroom to see Draco kneeling on the bed, naked and waiting for him he had to clutch at the doorframe to keep himself in check. He felt a surge inside him that felt less like the urge of a lover and more like the rush a bird of prey must feel at snatching a defenceless animal from the ground in order to devour it. He felt powerful and hungry and wild, all at once, and when Draco shifted his upper body forward in a strangely demure motion, his eyes on Harry's, there was no help for it at all. Harry was on him at once.  
  
He pushed Draco flat onto the bed and knelt above him to run his trembling fingers over Draco's collarbones and chest. Draco's skin, so pale, had an unblemished quality to it that Harry found appealing, and the hitch in Draco's breath when Harry ran a thumb down from the hollow of his throat to the centre of his navel forced Harry to abandon his downward path in order to put both hands on Draco's face and kiss him soundly.  
  
Draco's mouth was hot and eager beneath Harry's, opening to receive Harry's tongue which swept once across his lips before delving inside. Draco's hands slid over Harry's shoulders to tug at his hair while pulling him closer, urging the kiss on and on. Over and over again Draco's tongue met Harry's, their lips crushed together, their breathing growing ever more ragged. Harry felt as though he were in some state of delirium and as he clutched at Draco's skin, all Draco's games and challenges were swept away at last.  
  
He was so hard, harder than he had ever been and all he wanted was to touch the rest of Draco's body, all lithe and pale and stretched out for him to _have_. But he couldn't break the kiss, couldn't stop touching Draco's face, and his hips jerked involuntarily forward.  
  
Gasping, Draco broke away. "No, no, Potter, not yet. Here I am naked as per your request, and you still wearing half your clothes."  
  
"Indeed," Harry replied, laughing a little. He shifted to bring himself back to his knees. One of his waistcoat buttons caught Draco's nipple and his cock jerked; Harry felt it and moaned a little. "You turn the very blood in my body to fire," Harry gasped. "Or – no, you have turned it into a philtre."  
  
Draco laughed at this, and reached for the buttons on Harry's waistcoat.  
  
In his fantasies, he had touched Draco from ankle to neck, from the hair beneath his arms to the soft flesh of his earlobe. But he could not, now; it would have to wait. There was so much more of urgency than finesse in him now.  
  
He tore his cravat away from his throat. Draco had in his impatience undone the waistcoat completely and tugged now at Harry's shirt. Harry discarded both items behind him and was rewarded at once with Draco's hands on his skin. He groaned as those hands roamed over his body, watching Draco's greedy expression and wondering how like it his own expression might be.  
  
Harry let his hands drift up to sit on Draco's wrists as Draco touched him. Then at once he had both those wrists pinned down on the bed above Draco's head for the sheer pleasure of denying them both what they wanted.  
  
Draco met his gaze with a whine. Harry wanted to say something about how good Draco looked when Harry had him held down, but instead found himself kissing Draco again, shifting forward until he went from kneeling over Draco to lying on top of him. Harry still had on his trousers and he knew he would have to remove them or ruin them with an unexplainable stain, but for now he instead slid a leg between Draco's parted thighs and slid against him, pulling more desperate groans from Draco's mouth.  
  
Draco's whole body was taut as a bow string as he arched into Harry's body, his hips jerking, his hard cock rubbing against Harry's hip again and again, continually seeking a better angle, more contact between their two bodies. At last, with a snarl of frustration, Draco surged upright, flipping them over so that Harry was beneath him.  
  
When Harry reached up Draco smacked his hand away. It was not a playful gesture but one born of equal parts determination and frustration. Draco opened Harry's trousers in seconds and pulled them down his legs only to find boots preventing their being completely shed.  
  
"Hopeless, Potter!" he snarled as he twisted to resolve the problem. Draco's cock was right in front of Harry then for just a moment as Draco turned, close and mouth-watering. Harry had known that he wanted to touch Draco, that he wanted Draco to use his mouth on him again. He had not expected that he would be so eager to do the same, that the idea would fill him with lust and make his tongue eager to know the flavour. And now with Draco's back to him, he could look all he liked at the beautiful curve of his spine, the lovely supple backside, the strong thighs. He could only look for a moment, though, before his boots and the remnants of his clothing were removed at last and Draco was back on top of him. Their skin was touching from the tops of feet to the press of forehead against forehead before they kissed again, again, again.  
  
Harry was _desperate_. He had enjoyed his marital relations, had found pleasure in Ginny's embrace, but had never known desire like this. As Draco rubbed against him, lining up their two cocks and thrusting, Harry felt crescendos and conflagrations, as though his very being would ignite and meld completely into Draco's. Or perhaps they would both be lost to the fires and it wouldn't matter because it would feel like this forever and always.  
  
"Too much," Harry heard himself gasping, but Draco made no answer other than to press his lips to Harry's again in an almost chaste gesture belied by the ever-quickening pace of Draco's thrusts, so fast the friction almost hurt. Still, Harry felt something within tighten and tighten, waiting to explode.  
  
Then Draco bit at Harry's throat and Harry ignited at last, coming in a shuddering explosion of heat and sound. He gasped, he groaned, he screamed, he didn’t know what sound he made, only that he felt it torn from his throat and Draco's grip on his body tightened in response just before he followed Harry over the edge.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
When Harry came back to himself, he was lying on his side, his face buried in Draco's neck. Their legs were tangled together, their ejaculate cooling and sticking uncomfortably to Harry's skin. But he would not move for worlds, not as long as Draco was holding him, pressing gentle touches to the nape of his neck, the curve of his ear, the knobs of his spine. He wondered when he had removed his glasses. It didn't seem important.  
  
Harry burrowed deeper into Draco's arms. Draco gave a soft laugh. "Ah, you are alive in there."  
  
"Mm," Harry replied. He stirred slowly, leaning back to look into Draco's sated eyes. "I didn't look for long after all."  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows. "There is the rest of tonight. Even tomorrow."  
  
Harry reached up and stroked his thumb along Draco's jaw, gently pushing him onto his back. Harry looked at him, all muscle and sinew. There was no spare flesh on his body; he was sharp angles and the steady thrum of passion beneath porcelain skin.  
  
Harry kissed him softly before he fetched a wet cloth from the washstand to clean them both up. He could have used a spell of course but he preferred the tactile experience of the cloth in his hand, Draco's body beneath. As he made to rise, Draco caught his wrist.  
  
"Perhaps now some of that brandy?"  
  
Harry smiled. "Of course." His eyes lit on his glasses and he pushed them back onto his face.  
  
"And a cigarette, I think," Draco mused. He stroked his fingers over Harry's hand before he stood.  
  
Harry made for the robe he had hung by the door but Draco stopped him. "Are you cold?"  
  
"No."  
  
Draco smirked, and sauntered through the door naked. Harry laughed to himself and followed, not bothering to cover himself.  
  
Draco had found his wand and with a quick, " _Reparo_ ," the glass Harry had smashed came back to a whole. Harry passed him the decanter, then poured his own drink, sitting opposite Draco as he reached for the cigarette case.  
  
Once it was lit, Draco regarded him seriously. "How long will you be in London, then, Potter?"  
  
Harry ran his hand over the back of his neck. "I have made no arrangements but I hope to stay here for some time. I had hoped…"  
  
"Yes?" Draco prompted when he did not continue.  
  
"I hope to see much of you," Harry said softly.  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You are seeing all of me at this very moment, are you not?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "You know what I mean."  
  
"I do," Draco said. "It would please me as well. Mother is annoyed at me for deserting her which means in turn that Father will be no pleasing company."  
  
Harry swirled the brandy around the glass, not knowing what to say. "I may stay with Sirius a while or I may take my own house. I do not know."  
  
"You intend to tell him of this?"  
  
Harry looked at Draco sharply. "I had not thought."  
  
Draco snorted. "Sirius Black would have you believe that he flouts convention but in truth he is just as conservative as all the other lords."  
  
Harry frowned. "What makes you say that?"  
  
Draco shrugged. "Observation. Of him and of you. He has been your de facto father, no? And you are in many ways a conventional man yourself."  
  
"This is hardly conventional," Harry said. "You and I."  
  
"You fought it," Draco pointed out.  
  
Harry acknowledged the point and sipped from his glass. "It was not something I knew within me."

  
"I always knew," Draco said carelessly. "I always knew what I wanted."  
  
The thing which had disturbed Harry for so long came to his mind now. "Do you not worry that it is unnatural?"  
  
"Unnatural," Draco said scornfully. "Perversion, they say. Perversion is all that's worth living for."  
  
At this, Harry looked at him, startled.  
  
"You must have read the Greeks, Potter," Draco said. "This is not some new assault on society; the desire between men has been with us since the birth of civilisation. It is not an _unnatural desire._ " His tone mocked the very idea. He laughed. "People will believe anything. When first I understood what I was hungering for, I read about it. In England today there are such bizarre stories in print – they say that a sodomite's penis will change shape and become like that of a dog! They say that a mouth which sucks cock will change shape and distort to become like that of a Dementor!" Draco laughed. "I knew it could not be so. I never saw it on the faces of the lords and ladies, nor the whores or the renters. I knew not everyone could be as virtuous as we all like to pretend."  
  
"You think all the world delights in hypocrisy?"  
  
"No," Draco replied. "No, some choose instead to torture themselves by fearing that which they long for most fervently. But you and I here together, who does it hurt?"  
  
Ginny flashed into Harry's mind but he did not dwell on her image. He had made his decision and he would accept the guilty conscience as the price for the pleasure only Draco could offer him.  
  
"Were you really such an innocent?" Draco wondered aloud, equal parts incredulous and amused. "I wondered – I wasn't sure…"  
  
"I had perhaps desired men before," Harry acknowledged. "I do not believe I was aware of it at the time – it is only in retrospect that it seems clear to me."  
  
"And only I was worth the risk?" Draco's expression turned smug.  
  
Harry blushed and ducked his head down, but Draco would not permit him to withhold an answer. "Only you," he said at last, and it was worth the embarrassment for Draco's smile.  
  
Draco finished his cigarette and stubbed it out. He stood at once, making one swift motion to kneel in front of Harry, pulling his legs apart and leaning between them. He pressed his face into the hair growing there, inhaling deeply. "I love the smell of you," he said, his voice a little rough. "I love it best now, when you smell also of me."  
  
Harry's cock had been soft but at this it began to harden again, and became full almost at once when Draco looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and pressed his lips to it. Harry groaned as Draco first licked the tip: the sound seemed to electrify Draco, who opened his mouth and took Harry in deep. The tip of his cock was against the palate of Draco's mouth, his tongue flattened beneath and Draco pulled back slightly only to surge forward with more determination. Harry could not keep silent at this; his breathing increased and he began to grunt as Draco continued to look at him and suck on his phallus.  
  
Draco pulled away for a moment and Harry made an incoherent noise of protest, but all was well; Draco merely placed Harry's legs on his shoulders then gripped his hips and lowered his mouth again. Harry's hands had been longing to run through Draco's fine hair but instead he reached behind him to clutch at the back of the sofa to keep himself upright as Draco pushed him backwards and up.  
  
"What are you…" Harry began, but then Draco had moved his mouth and Harry felt his testicles being licked thoroughly, first one then the other. It was an utterly new sensation and it made his whole body jerk with pleasure until Draco pulled away all together.  
  
"You can keep yourself from falling?" he asked. At Harry's jerky nod, he smiled and brought his little finger to his mouth, fellating it as surely as he had Harry's cock. Then his mouth was back on Harry's shaft and his hand was around Harry's testicles again. Harry gave himself over to the pleasure of it, the wet heat of Draco's mouth, the persistence of his nimble fingers. Draco's hand slid further back and then that wet finger was teasing at Harry's entrance, sliding around it and playing with it. Harry gasped and almost wanted to say no, not that, but the pleasure was all too intense. The finger slipped inside. Harry groaned. His senses were overloaded; there was ecstasy to be found in the way Draco worked his body, agony in the tension of his arms keeping him in position.  
  
"Draco," Harry gasped and was dually rewarded as Draco's mouth took him in completely and his finger slid all the way inside. Harry climaxed at once with a sharp cry, and his arms gave out. He would have crashed to the floor but Draco held him, withdrawing his finger from Harry's back passage and rearranging Harry's body on the couch.  
  
Harry blinked a few times. When Draco came back into focus he had a little of Harry's come at the corner of his mouth. Aroused anew by the thought of Draco drinking his very essence, Harry licked at what remained without hesitation, kissing Draco fiercely.  
  
Draco looked at Harry with dark, dark eyes, and stood. His own erection bobbed in front of Harry's face and Harry looked up to see the question, the dare in Draco's eyes.  
  
Harry never backed down from a dare. He reached for Draco's hips, pulling him closer. He feasted his eyes on Draco's body and he remembered the thrill of lust he had felt before at the mere idea of performing this most intimate act. His lips darted out to moisten his mouth. Draco removed his glasses, his hand caressing Harry's face gently before pulling him forward. Harry opened his mouth, eager.  
  
He had never done this before and therefore tried to imitate what Draco had just done to him. He licked the tip, pushing back the foreskin to explore, making his lips a round O to cover his teeth. Draco gasped and his hips jerked forward; Harry let him. Draco pulled his head, Harry pulled Draco's hips in turn and a quick stuttering rhythm was established, Harry choking a little at times but never pulling away. He closed his eyes to focus on the scent and the heat of Draco filling his senses and when Draco's cries became more hoarse, he felt maddened by the idea of Draco filling his mouth with seed.  
  
At the last moment, though, Draco pulled away, coming in a stream over Harry's face and down his chest. His aim wasn't perfect and some spattered onto the couch. Harry, his eyes watering a little, looked up at Draco a little reproachfully but Draco was already on his knees again, leaning forward to inhale deeply.  
  
"Oh, Potter," he gasped, crumpling further into Harry's body, his fingers running through the mess he had made. "There, I have marked you and now you are mine."  
  
Harry shivered at the thought. Yes, it was true, he knew it. He caressed Draco's hair as Draco knelt still, his head in Harry's lap. He should have been sated, he knew, and he _was_ but all he could think of was doing that again.  
  
As if responding to his thoughts, Draco shifted his head. "Oh, Potter," he said again. " _Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo_. There is so, so much still to show you."  
  
"I want to do it all," Harry replied at once, reckless and so very alive.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone doing this Monday? Me, I'm still super embarrassed about messing up the posting order. Welcome new readers and anyone sticking with me through the oops.

That October in London was very warm. Indian summer meant the days could be spent walking through parks, taking in the Great Exhibition, meandering through the Muggle world.  
  
"I have never spent so much time in Muggle London before," Draco remarked when they took a picnic by the Italian fountains in Kensington Gardens. They were hidden from view by charms so that their conversation would not be interrupted, and lay down on the grass, lazy in the sun.  
  
"Nor I," Harry responded. The light caught the water in the fountains, turning it brilliant white until it almost hurt Harry's eyes, but the gentle sound pleased him. He shifted to look at Draco, who appeared deep in thought. Reluctant to broach the subject, Harry forced himself to ask, "Do you wish we were spending more time in wizarding society?  
  


Draco yawned. "Perhaps a little. I should so very much like to show you off," he said with a smile.  
  
Harry gave an answering smile, though he knew that would never be possible. "This way it is as though we have our own world," he said, running his knuckles along Draco's cheekbone.  
  
Draco pushed his face into the caress. "Mm, and our own world is most satisfactory indeed."  
  
"I like the peace," Harry confessed. "While I have been blessed with many good friends I do always feel the pressure to perform."  
  
"You are, after all, our hero," Draco said, a little mocking. "How must it feel to have achieved what will likely be your greatest success in life before you had even fully become a man?"  
  
"Those days are such a blur," Harry confessed. "Always something to do, some threat to my life or someone else's. Ginny would say I couldn't see past my nose." A flash of discomfort at the thought of Ginny, as always, but Harry let it pass.  
  
"You certainly never saw _me_ ," Draco drawled. "I tried to befriend you, do you not even remember?"  
  
Harry frowned. "Vaguely. You insulted Ron? He remembers, even if I do not."  
  
"What care I for Weasley's remembrance?" Draco snapped.  
  
Harry looked at him then. His mouth showed a pout but behind that Harry thought perhaps he could see hurt.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I did not realise it would have such an effect on you."  
  
Draco's mouth curled unhappily. "I do not believe anyone has ever ignored me so effectively, before or since. Excepting my father, of course."  
  
"It was a long time ago," Harry said, trying to encourage Draco to leave the past behind. "I do not ignore you now, do I?"  
  
"Indeed not," Draco acknowledged, though he continued fidgeting. Harry reached out and caught his hands to soothe him, but touching Draco always seemed to lead to more touch, more intensity. Always more.  
  
Draco's words stayed with Harry, however, and not long after he asked Draco, "Have you not visited your father since we returned to London?"  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Lord, no. No, Father takes a great deal of pleasure in reminding me what a disappointment to him I am at every opportunity. I have been of age for years but he will not trust me with the running of any business affairs of importance, so I find myself quite idle - which in turn, brings further wrath down upon me." He shrugged, trying to appear careless but Harry was not fooled.  
  
"It matters to you very much to make him proud."  
  
Draco laughed harshly. "I will never make my father proud. I had my chance in the war, but I refused to do as he bid."  
  
Harry frowned. "Your father... he was under Imperius during the war."  
  
"Of course he was."  
  
Draco's flat tone brought a frown to Harry's face. "Did your father want you to..."  
  
"Yes, of course he did, Potter," Draco sighed. "He follows the old ways more strictly than you realise - but he cut deals and saved our family's reputation. And I - well, I was shipped off to Beauxbatons to complete my education. And quite the education it was, too," he concluded with a smile. "Would you like to hear about it?"  
  
"I don't..."  
  
Draco paid him no attention. "I was sixteen when I was first sent to Beauxbatons. I already had an idea of the kinds of forbidden desires which might come to define me. And there was a boy there from the Jura mountains. His name was—"  
  
"What are you doing?" Harry cut him off.  
  
Draco looked at him in honest confusion. "I am telling you a story. Perhaps you are right and it would be a story better told once we are truly alone."  
  
"Draco, were you about to tell me a story of you with another man?" Harry knew his tone had grown sharp but he couldn't help himself.  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You watched me with Bertram."  
  
"I didn't like it," Harry said at once.  
  
Draco snorted. "It seemed to have quite the effect on you at the time."  
  
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "No, that wasn't... I felt so sick afterwards. Draco, I don't want to think about you like that. The way we are, with someone else. I..." Harry forced his hands, which had clenched themselves into fists, to relax.  
  
"Ah," Draco sighed. "Jealousy."  
  
"Would you wish to hear about..."  
  
"Thank you, no," Draco cut him off, distaste writ large on his face. "I have no desire to hear about your marriage bed."  
  
"That's not what I was going to say!"  
  
"What, then?" Draco asked sharply. "How many others have there been?"  
  
"Are you now jealous?" Harry returned.  
  
Draco's jaw tightened. "I am merely wondering if I should have believed you when you told me that it had been only I."  
  
"Only you," Harry repeated, catching Draco's jaw and turning Draco's face towards him. "You know there has been only you."  
  
Draco relaxed a little at that, but Harry's mind had made the next logical step. "There have been many for you, I suppose." In fact he knew; it could hardly have been more obvious.  
  
"Many," Draco acknowledged. "Some who were friends, some whom I paid for the ease of it."  
  
"Any like this?" Harry made himself ask. "Any with whom you would spend your days and nights? Any others with whom you have lived?"  
  
"No."  
  
Harry stared into Draco's eyes for a moment but he saw no dissembling. He brushed his lips over Draco's gently, then rested his head on Draco's shoulder. Draco was a constantly shifting pattern like the sunlight on water. Harry had him near, all his beauty and his mystery, and that was enough to content him, at least for a moment.  
  
"If it causes you distress I will not speak of it," Draco said softly. "I thought it would be but an enjoyable story. I do not think of these things as you do. Seeing you with Kirke - I thought you made a beautiful tableau. It did not give me pause."  
  
"Then what did you mean when you said I was yours?"  
  
Draco did not answer.  
  
"Are you mine?" Harry asked, straightening again to examine Draco's response.  
  
Draco looked at him. "You will not take me."  
  
Harry should have expected that. Draco had at first taught Harry how to take all his length into his mouth, how to bring him pleasure in this way. He had curled his fingers up inside Harry and encouraged Harry to do the same. But then, one night while their pleasure raged between them, Draco raised his head from around Harry's manhood to ask, "Would you let me now show you the true pleasures of Greek love?"  
  
Harry had at once recoiled, jerking away from Draco without quite meaning to, unable to control the violence of his reaction. His erection began to soften almost at once and he turned away from his lover in shame.  
  
The air filled with tension where moments ago there had been soft whispers and moans.  
  
"The idea is so disgusting to you?" Draco's tone had been angry, laced through with hurt. "Is the thought of being so very close to me truly nothing but repellent?"  
  
Harry had not known where to look. "Draco, you know I desire you, you know I find nothing but pleasure in your arms..."  
  
"And do you not find pleasure when I use my fingers on you? What makes you think that you would find no pleasure in this?"  
  
Harry's fingers shook as he raised them to his mouth. "Is it not painful?"  
  
"The first time, yes, as the act of love is for a woman. But would you say then that a woman must always regret having given herself to her lover?"  
  
"I am no woman!"  
  
Draco sighed. "I see. You would think less of me, then, were I to offer myself thus to you."  
  
Harry turned to look at Draco, still naked on their shared bed. "No. Draco, of course not."  
  
"But it is not something you yourself would countenance." Draco's tone was light, but his body was taut as a coiled spring.  
  
"I fear it," Harry acknowledged at last.  
  
Draco looked up at him. "You fear me?"  
  
"No! No, of course not. I fear the pain, and I fear that I will offer you no pleasure and I fear—"  
  
Draco cut him off. "I know what you fear. You fear that after such an act you will no longer be able to deny that you are a sodomite."  
  
They had not slept well that night, nor spoken of the subject since.  
  
Now, Harry studied Draco's face. "I thought you wished rather for the reverse."  
  
"It is a great pleasure," Draco said, his eyes intent. "I would wish you to know both aspects of it. I would wish to do everything I have ever thought of with you, to know you as my lover completely. I know you fear the one; very well, let us try the other. You will see the pleasure you give me and you will no longer fear the act. And you should not fear it, Harry," and the rare use of his given name made Harry realise just how serious Draco was. "You should not fear that your own body will betray you."  
  
Harry nodded, not acquiescing, but acknowledging Draco's words, thinking it through. "Not quite yet," he said at last. "I think that this I can do, this I _want_ to do, but not quite yet."  
  
Draco sighed. Harry reached out and squeezed his hand, but the pleasure of the day was somewhat lessened.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
On their return to the hotel, Harry excused himself to the water closet. He was gone for mere moments but he could tell that Draco's mood had undergone another drastic change in his absence.  
  
"What is wrong?" he asked.  
  
Draco turned, his face livid. In his hand was a letter; Harry frowned and looked to the window. Sure enough, there was an owl perched on the sill.  
  
"The seal indicates that this is from your _wife_ ," Draco spat.  
  
Harry did not know what to say. "It has been some time since I left her," he said. "I wrote to her of course - I told her that I was..."  
  
"I do not care to hear it," Draco thundered. "This place is ours, yours and mine. It is sacrosanct and you bring her here with you."  
  
"I could hardly send her no word, Draco!" Harry cried. "I could not have her wondering where I was, trying to find me - I would not worry her. And I wrote to my children, too!"  
  
"Oh yes, of course, your children," Draco sneered. "They will keep you forever tied to her. I see you studying their photographs when you think I am asleep."  
  
"Do not tell me I am wrong to love my children," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous.  
  
Draco gave an incoherent snarl, and reached for the cloak he had just discarded. "I tell you no such thing," he snapped. "I tell you only that you ask if you are mine and then you prove that you are not."  
  
"Draco," Harry began, a pleading note entering his voice, but Draco brushed past him and out the door.  
  
Harry sank down to the couch and buried his face in his hands.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
Harry had written but a few lines to his wife, advising her that he had taken a discreet hotel and would be gathering his thoughts before contacting anyone. The letter for the boys had been a little longer, explaining that he would be away on business but would visit them very soon.  
  
Ginny's letter was considerably more forgiving than Harry might have expected.  
  
  


_I find that the waters and the rest have done wonders for me, and indeed that while I feel your absence keenly, I have been better able to relax knowing that you are not made unhappy by my spending so much time in the treatments. I was at last able to take the walk you described to me up Knockfarrel, which would have been much too strenuous for me to attempt even a scant fortnight ago. The vitrified fort there was indeed of considerable interest! I hope that your solitude offers you time for reflection, and that we may soon experience the reunion you hope for._

  
  
I have made her unhappy, Harry acknowledged to himself at last. She loves me deeply and in return I have made her very unhappy.  
  
The letter crumpled in his hand. He had left Ginny behind but he could never sever the ties between them. Draco had the right of it. Harry wondered if this was a sign, if now, having indulged his desire he could return, refreshed to his life as it had been.  
  
The thought was anathema to him. Even with Draco furious and petulant, he would rather be here than back in Strathpeffer, or even Godric's Hollow. He knew now why he was hesitant to give himself fully to Draco; it would be a point of no return. But Harry felt now as though that point had long since been passed. Perhaps in the back room of the Hogs Head, perhaps in the carriage where Draco had first kissed him. Perhaps even before then. He did not know.  
  
Dumbledore had always told him that his heart was his protection. Perhaps indeed it had been, but now it was become his greatest weakness, so full of conflicting desires that he knew not which to follow.  
  
This is what I wanted, he reminded himself. This is what I have done.  
  
Draco did not come back. Harry dined in the hotel, eating quickly, and returned to a room still empty. He took a long bath thinking of the day before when he and Draco had shared it.  
  
Finally he retired for the evening, still alone.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Harry woke to a sharp flash of sensation. He moaned, still partly asleep, and heard Draco's choked response; his mouth was already around Harry's cock.  
  
Harry's eyes flew open when Draco's tongue went rigid at the head of his cock, gasping with pleasure. He saw then that Draco was lying next to him but his position was inverted; his mouth was on Harry's cock, his own in front of Harry's face. Draco's erection seemed to surge towards him, desperately seeking entrance and Harry took it in his mouth at once, their earlier conflict completely forgotten.  
  
Draco kissed and licked at Harry's cock and every caress he offered Harry echoed. He played with the hair that grew around it, he slipped a hand above to feel the weight of the testes, he caressed buttocks and slipped a finger along the crack.  
  
Remembering Draco's words that afternoon, Harry pulled away for a moment, the lightning of desire bringing him to full alertness. He pushed his own index finger into his mouth and make it wet. He returned Draco's cock to his mouth and reached back, his finger finding the entrance to Draco's body with ease, teasing lightly, still hesitant to commit this most intimate act.  
  
The sounds Draco made, however, encouraged him and he slid his finger inside, just a little, just to the first knuckle. It slid inside so easily, as though the way had already been moistened and prepared.  
  
Draco's hips jerked forward in response and Harry found himself suddenly gagging as Draco's cock went deeper into his throat than he had anticipated. He pulled his mouth away, coughing slightly, and felt Draco pull away.  
  
"This is a different angle. Takes practice, Potter," Draco said, looking up at him.  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed at the thought of all the men Draco must have done this to, to be able to lie there so casually and say something like that. He redoubled his efforts at once, sliding his finger further into Draco's body and when the response came again it was not, this time, so unexpected. Harry kept his head back just a little so that his mouth was never more full than he could bear. Draco's hips jerked back onto his finger, forward into his mouth. Draco's breath was hot on his lower body but he could not seem to catch his breath long enough to resume his ministrations; Harry had made him come undone and all at once his mouth was flooded.  
  
Slowly he withdrew his finger and sat up, only to have Draco reach for his shoulder, pulling him on top of Draco's body.  
  
"Feed it to me," Draco said, sticking out his tongue. The sight he made was filthy, wanton and depraved, and Harry moaned, opening his mouth to let Draco's come slide from his own tongue to his lover's. Draco sucked on his tongue, pulling it into his mouth and chasing his own flavour. He moaned into Harry's mouth and writhed a little; Harry's still-hard cock ached.  
  
Then Draco gripped Harry's hair hard, pulling his head back, his mouth away. "Do you want to fuck me?" he said.  
  
The word was so coarse, nothing Harry would ever expect to hear from someone of Draco's class. It aroused him even as it shocked him and he wondered what Draco could read in his face.  
  
"I know you do," Draco went on, his eyes ablaze. "I know it. Admit it. Do it."  
  
Harry closed his eyes against the rising tide of lust. His body was shaking already, he could feel it.  
  
"Are you still afraid?" Draco demanded, a hint of anger entering his tone. "I told you, you're mine, I marked you. Do you want me to be yours? Fuck me."  
  
Harry nodded into Draco's chest, unable to look at him. "I want," he said, but he could not finish.  
  
"Good," Draco said, and he opened his legs wider for Harry to settle between. "I got myself ready for you while you were sleeping."  
  
That was almost too much. Harry's body jerked against Draco's in response to his low-voiced admission and he bit down hard on Draco's collarbone to keep himself in check. Draco hissed in response and Harry felt his legs moving, coming up so that his feet were planted flat on the bed, one on either side of Harry's thighs.  
  
"Like this," Draco whispered. "Just like this, so that I can watch you."  
  
Harry pushed himself up and looked into Draco's face. He raised his body to let Draco shift the angle. Draco's cock was only half-hard but still beautiful and Harry rubbed his hand over it, feeling it begin to stir.  
  
"Come on," Draco said, and it sounded more like an order than a plea. "Come on."  
  
Harry was high on new sensation but still he slid his fingers down and back, pushing his index finger back into Draco's body. It slipped inside easily again, so Harry pushed two fingers inside; Draco gasped and arched up into him. Three fingers, the same.  
  
"Does it not hurt?" he asked.  
  
"Sometimes," Draco replied, "but not now."  
  
Harry twisted his fingers experimentally and Draco's body arched again. Draco's cock was fully erect now, Harry noticed with relief. His own had begun to leak.  
  
"Acheron and Lethe, Potter, _please_ ," Draco whined, and Harry could only obey, drawing his fingers out of Draco's body to guide his cock inside in their place.  
  
He pressed the tip to Draco's entrance, which seemed so small despite his having inserted three of his fingers only moments before. He pushed forward just a little and the sensation of the tight sheath gripping his phallus made him lose his meagre grasp on control and he thrust, seating himself deeply within Draco's body.  
  
Draco's fingernails had dug into Harry's shoulders as he breached the barrier but now his hands relaxed, clasping at Harry's face. "You're inside me," Draco moaned.  
  
"I'm inside you," Harry echoed, looking into that most dear and desired face. Draco's eyes then were so wide, his eyes almost all pupil. He looked as though his very senses had been stolen from him so that he could do nothing but feel; he had been reduced to pure sensation and Harry's nerves twitched. He caught one of Draco's hands and pinned it down on the mattress, interlacing their fingers before he began to thrust.  
  
Draco's passage was so tight that Harry feared he would last barely a moment before he reached completion. His cock was clasped and gripped; he shivered and ground his teeth and thrust again, watching Draco's eyes roll up in his head. And then the world was heat and sensation, Draco's body and his own fusing into one being. Draco met his every thrust and cried out incoherently for more, more, more. Harry gripped Draco's hand as hard as he could – it was his anchor to reality, the only thing keeping him tied to the world as his blood boiled, his veins burned. That hand and those eyes, never looking away from his own.  
  
"Please," Draco sobbed, his muscles squeezing down all around Harry who could bear it no longer and came inside his lover's body. He closed his eyes just for a moment but when Draco cried "No!" he opened them again at once, so vulnerable and open to anything Draco might ever choose to ask of him.  
  
Draco kept looking at him as he licked the hand Harry was not holding and reached to stroke himself to completion as Harry watched, dumb. It took him mere moments and then his body was spasming and arching, clasping at Harry's who could hardly bear the new onslaught of sensation and cried out again with the shock of renewed pleasure on his over-sensitised flesh.  
  
Harry's arms gave out at last and he collapsed, clinging to Draco whose body still shook, his panting breath hot on Harry's cheek.  
  
For a long moment they lay there together in the peace that follows intense pleasure.  
  
With his hand covered in his own come, Draco brought it to Harry's face, painting a line along his cheekbone. "You understand now?"  
  
"I am yours," Harry said in reply, clasping Draco's fingers ever more tightly. "I am yours."  
  
"You are mine," Draco echoed, his smile pure victory.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to post late - kept getting 503 error yesterday :(

October cooled into November in days blurred together with joyful discovery. Draco's clothes slowly accumulated in their hotel room and Harry found that watching his lover dress, meticulous and always with an eye for maximising the impact of his attire, was just as arousing as removing his clothing. Harry for his part discovered that Draco loved to climb into his bath, spilling the water all over the floor as their slippery bodies melded into one.  
  
"Whatever did you do with your days before?" Harry asked one afternoon when they had yet to rise from bed.  
  
Draco shrugged. "What is there to do? I read - I have been lax lately, I confess. In Quidditch season, I attend the games. But other than entertaining my friends, my life is quite idle."  
  
"I would have wished to be an Auror," Harry said, carding his fingers through Draco's hair. "If I had the choice of any profession."  
  
"Ever the hero," Draco said. "You shock me."  
  
Harry laughed. "Ah, well. In truth I should be paying more attention to politics, the Wizengamot and what not."  
  
"Father always did tell me how important it was to take an interest in policy," Draco said dismissively. "But I shall not have a seat until he is passed."  
  
"Do you resent that?"  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "He tells me not to be idle but everything which might occupy my mind is deemed unworthy of a Malfoy. I am good with potions, and I have done some research into blending certain exotic ingredients more effectively, but it came to nothing in the end. And so, having failed, I was not permitted to continue."  
  
Harry frowned. "How then can discoveries be made?"  
  
"I don't think Father much cares." Draco shifted. "I might have liked to continue under Professor Snape's tutelage longer, but of course he was lost at the Battle of Hogwarts. Besides, he was only a half-blood and it would not have been fitting."  
  
"I am a half-blood," Harry said sharply.  
  
Draco looked at him with a sardonic curl to his mouth. "Yes, and that is of course why Father would not approve of our relationship."  
  
"I don't care overmuch for your father's approval," Harry said drily.  
  
"Why would you?" Draco said, and then he reached for Harry and all conversation ceased a while.  
  
Yet the words lingered in Harry's mind. He knew that no one could possibly understand or support this relationship, but he had allowed himself the luxury of choosing not to think on it. He was aware, however, that their time together was stolen and that the world they had created for the two of them could not last forever.  
  
Only a few days later, the rest of the world intruded once again.  
  
Harry and Draco were having afternoon tea when all at once a familiar Patronus in the form of a large silver dog entered the room.  
  
"Oh," Harry whispered.  
  
"What is—" Draco began, but then the Patronus began to speak in Sirius' voice.  
  
"Harry," it said, "I have heard that you are in London and yet I have seen neither hide nor hair of you. I wondered why you hadn't replied to my letter - now I know. I assume all is well but I hope you will visit and confirm that."  
  
Then it was gone.  
  
Harry felt his shoulders slump.  
  
Draco said nothing for a long moment.  
  
"Think about it tomorrow," he said at last, touching Harry's sleeve.  
  
Reprieved, Harry smiled gratefully at him and they continued their meal. But the world had found them at last, and both were a little subdued - until, that is, Draco pulled Harry through to the bedroom.  
  
Harry closed his eyes, and forgot himself a while.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
In the morning, Harry lay holding Draco for a long while before hunger at last demanded that they rise for the day. Both needed to bathe and while Draco's suggestion that they did so together tempted Harry greatly, he demurred, saying that was a pleasure best savoured when they would have time to enjoy it fully.  
  
The two devoured the breakfast supplied by the hotel, eggs and toast and bacon all consumed.  
  
"I've never been so famished," Harry said around a mouthful.  
  
Draco smirked. "You have perhaps never worked up such an appetite before," he replied.  
  
Harry blushed a little and ducked his head.  
  
"Oh! No, do not hide your face from me," Draco said, reaching out to tip Harry's face back up. "I would see you."  
  
Draco's expression was gentler than he had expected. Harry kissed him then, unable to stop himself.  
  
Draco returned the kiss, but softly. "What will you do today?"  
  
Harry sighed, looking at his hands. "I must talk to Sirius. There are numerous arrangements which must be made."  
  
"Of course. It could not be postponed indefinitely."  
  
"And you?"  
  
Draco waved a hand. "I shall find ways to occupy myself."  
  
"Potions, perhaps?" Harry said, trying to elicit a smile.  
  
Draco shook his head. "Nowhere to brew them. Blaise is still in the north, but Nott will be in town."  
  
"Will you meet me for dinner?"  
  
Draco's mouth curved. "But where shall we go?"  
  
"Anywhere," Harry said with a small shrug.  
  
"Are you not afraid to be seen with me, now that your family has remembered your existence?"  
  
Harry shifted, uncomfortable. "Should I be? Will the world take one look at us together and draw the correct conclusion?"  
  
"Perhaps not," Draco said, shaking his head. "Yet I think there are certain establishments where we would draw less attention than we otherwise might. I will meet you here at seven o'clock."  
  


Harry touched his face, already thinking that the hours until seven would pass slowly beyond all comprehension.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
When Draco had taken his leave, Harry debated with himself for a while before deciding that the easiest thing to do would be to Apparate to Grimmauld Place. The sound did tend to draw attention, so Harry cast a muffling charm before he spun around.  
  
Harry hoped to find Sirius at home, but he had given no warning of his coming and he wondered if he would be an imposition even as the door creaked open. Kreacher stood there, his spine curved, his body taut.  
  
"Master Potter is here," Kreacher said. "Master Potter has come back and Master Sirius did not tell Kreacher, no, and now another bedroom will have to be made up."  
  
"Perhaps not," Harry said. "I may not stay. Please, can you let Sirius know I'm here."  
  
"Master Sirius is having company," Kreacher said, pushing the door wider. "Is the same company as always. My mistress, my poor mistress, it would break her heart it would, it would."  
  
"Kreacher, what…" Harry began but then all at once Dobby appeared next to Kreacher and Harry was ushered into the house at once.  
  
"Is you having breakfast Harry Potter sir?" Dobby asked. "Dobby can make you finest breakfast!"  
  
"I'm fine, Dobby," Harry said as he walked into the foyer. "If you can just let Sirius know I am here?"  
  
At once Dobby disappeared and a moment later, Sirius appeared, half-dressed with his smoking jacket thrown over his nightclothes.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius' face was full of concern. "Harry, at last! I quite feared for you. Ginny told me you were staying at a Muggle hotel?"  
  
"I am," Harry said. "I am sorry to impose, I should have sent an owl at the very least but I'm afraid my thoughts were somewhat in disarray. Can we talk?"  
  
"Of course. Dobby, tea in the parlour," Sirius said, gesturing.  
  
"And for Master Lupin, too?" Dobby asked.  
  
Harry started. "Oh, is Remus visiting you? I am sorry to impose."  
  
"Harry," Sirius said, clasping his shoulder, "you know you are always welcome here, so please do not begin another litany of apologies. I'm relieved you have seen fit to come at last." His tone was all reproach and Harry hung his head. "Remus is quite capable of looking after himself while we talk – unless you feel he could assist you in… whatever the matter is?"  
  
Harry smiled sadly. "Perhaps he could."  
  
"It's settled then," Sirius said, his tone brooking no argument, and in short order he and Harry were sitting down to tea. Remus was a morning person, so Harry was not surprised that he at least was fully dressed.  
  
"Harry," Remus greeted him warmly, shaking his hand. "Harry, it is always a pleasure."  
  
"Though a most overdue one in this instance," Sirius chimed in. "I gather you received my message, so why not tell us what you have been doing this past month?"  
  
Harry bit his lip, and began an abridged version of events in Strathpeffer – the beauty of the Highlands, his growing discomfort, and his words to Ginny. He did not mention Draco once, saying only that he had been seeking peace and respite.  
  
"But it seems I have worried you. And so," he concluded, "I am come here. I know, Sirius, that you have been continuing on the duties of the Potter estates as well as those of the Black family and it has been a great kindness, leaving me free to focus on family and friends, but I am a man grown and I should now take the reins myself."  
  
Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance.  
  
"Harry," Remus began, "do you really mean to live apart from Ginny? Permanently?"  
  
"Permanently?" Harry didn't know where to look. "I do not know. At least for a while. Her last pregnancy, Lily's birth - she has been under a terrible strain and I, I am hindering her recovery." It was all true, he told himself over and over again as everything he did not say made him feel every word a lie.  
  
"It will do the boy good to have occupation," Sirius said a little too heartily. "He is right to say that he should learn how to manage his own estates – I cannot live forever, after all, and better he learn now, with my guidance."  
  
"Thank you," Harry said quietly, a little ashamed.  
  
A brief silence followed this conclusion.  
  
"So, you shall stay here?" Sirius asked with a quick glance at Remus.  
  
"No, indeed," Harry said at once, grateful for the excuse. "You have a visitor already."  
  
"There is an entire floor to be had, Harry!" Sirius said at once. "And Remus is only here for the weekend, it's the middle of term don't you know..."  
  
"And you were so kind when we were here before that I do not wish to outstay my welcome," Harry said firmly. "There are no doubt some reasonable rooms to be had for rent; it need be nothing extravagant."  
  
"Living like a bachelor again?" Sirius smiled, sitting back on the couch.  
  
"Harry has never lived as a bachelor," Remus pointed out quietly. "He married almost immediately after finishing school."  
  
"Perhaps that is part of what makes him restless," Sirius said with a careless shrug, but it was obviously forced.  
  
Sirius had never been awkward in Harry's presence before.  
  
Remus smiled kindly at Harry. "Do you truly believe that this is the best thing for you at this time?"  
  
"I do," Harry said.  
  
Remus did not seem convinced, but he let the matter drop as was his wont; Sirius began to chatter about all the diversions London might offer with the winter season beginning, and if he seemed relieved that Harry was not about to become a semi-permanent house guest, Harry did not wonder at it then.  
  
Before he left, Sirius told him, "Meet me at the Ministry building tomorrow at ten; you can sit in the public gallery and observe. Not much interesting legislation, but perhaps a refresher course on to whom some of the faces belong - the ones that aren't constantly in the papers."  
  
Harry acquiesced, and was sent on his way. That afternoon was one of the dullest of Harry's life as he was reintroduced to the goblin responsible for keeping the books on his fortune, Snem. Snem talked him through his holdings in a near-monotone, all the while behaving as though the very idea of explaining himself in this way was insulting, and Harry forced himself to pay attention. It might seem as though the estate ran itself, but there were rents to collect, staff to pay, upkeep to be considered, and Harry had made only one annual tour in the last ten years.  
  
He resolved to do more even as his eyes flickered to the carriage clock behind Snem's desk, counting down the hours until seven o'clock.  
  
His business with the goblins was concluded before lunchtime and when he left the bank he was disconcerted to find Remus waiting for him.  
  
"Remus," he said, frowning slightly.  
  
"I know we spoke only this morning Harry," Remus said, "but I hoped you would join me for luncheon."  
  
"Of course," Harry said at once. His pulse quickened a little as he tried to imagine what conclusions Remus might have reached, what conjecture he might have heard.  
  
Remus led him to the Leaky Cauldron and paid for a private booth; Harry winced slightly at the flash of gold, but supposed Sirius must have given it to him. He winced again at the thought of the task of speaking to him being delegated to Remus, imagining he and Sirius discussing it.  
  
He sat and inquired at once after Teddy. The topic took them through their first course, though Remus' face told Harry that his manoeuvre had not gone unnoticed.  
  
At last, the conversation flagged. Harry braced himself.  
  
"Harry, I do not believe you know this," Remus said, sitting back in his chair. "Indeed, it is not something of which I am proud at all and therefore I do not speak of it. But I think perhaps you will understand. You see, I once left Nymphadora, much in the same way you have left Ginny."  
  
Harry's jaw went slack. "You did?"  
  
Remus nodded. "It still shames me. When she told me first that she was with child – it filled me not with joy but with fear." He looked at Harry. "You know of my condition. I could not be certain how any child of mine would be affected, and while you know that Teddy is as untouched by lycanthropy as I could possibly have hoped, at the time things seemed very bleak."  
  
"But you loved her still," Harry said. The sentence sat there, half-statement half-question.  
  
Remus's face filled with regret. "I cared deeply for her," he said. "I left her because I was selfish. I had committed the act, I had made a decision and now I feared to face the consequences."  
  
Harry swallowed hard. "I see."  
  
Remus nodded once, then looked away. "Harry, no man can know the truth of another's marriage. But I ask you to consider honestly: is this what is best for Ginny and your children? If you truly believe it is, then you are on the right path. But if it is for reasons of your own, at their expense…" He sighed. "Harry you cannot begin to imagine the guilt I have felt these long years. I was apart from her for less than a month, but after she died all I could think of was how that time could have been better spent."  
  
Harry felt shame flood his face.  
  
"Marriage involves hard choices and sacrifices," Remus ventured, watching Harry's face closely.  
  
It was good advice, kindly meant, but it made resentment flare in Harry nonetheless. "Is it right that the sacrifices are always mine?" he said harshly.  
  
Remus' eyebrows shot up. "That is how you feel?"  
  
"It is. I do not deny that it is at least partly my own fault, but…" his voice trailed off.  
  
"Do you love your wife still?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Of course."  
  
Remus smiled sadly. "For better or worse, Harry. We marry, and we make promises, and though it may be hard, we must try to live by them. So if time is what you need, then take time. But remember that she is waiting, and that cutting yourself off from everyone this way is not good for you."  
  
Harry sighed. "I know. Remus, I know. It is just… It has felt in recent times as though I have fallen out of step with all those dear to me. Ron has his career, Hermione has her causes, Ginny has the children and I..."  
  
Remus nodded. "Occupation, Harry. You are quite right. It will do wonders for you. I am always at my best when I am able to work."  
  
"And how are your classes progressing?" Harry asked at once, seizing the opportunity.  
  
Remus seemed to feel that enough had been said, as he permitted the change of subject and the rest of their luncheon was spent in much more pleasing conversation.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
At seven, Harry was dressed and waiting. Draco only kept him waiting ten minutes this time, and then the two were off to dine at a private establishment, Spelling's, where Nott knew the proprietor.  
  
"Will he be joining us?" Harry asked.  
  
"Heavens, no," Draco laughed. "He has met a charming Spaniard and finds himself quite occupied in the evenings."  
  
Harry could hardly say that he was surprised to discover that Nott, too, was like them. He had already had unarticulated suspicions about Zabini. It made sense that people with any such secret in common would band together. Who else could understand?  
  
Spelling's was on Knockturn Alley, and Harry folded up the collar of his cloak lest he be recognised. Draco looked at him in amusement.  
  
"You do realise that it is rather the upper half of your face which people recognise?" he drawled. "No matter, Spelling's is very discreet." As if to prove his point at once, Draco knocked on an unmarked door. A panel slid back and a pair of dark eyes was visible for a moment.  
  
"Token?" a gruff voice said. Draco reached into his pocket and held up what looked like a plum carved from iridescent stone.  
  
The door opened, and Draco and Harry stepped into an antechamber. The burly man behind the door promptly closed it behind them.  
  
There was only one other door, with six different shapes carved out of the centre. Draco eyed the plum, and inserted it into the corresponding slot. The door opened at once, sliding back to reveal a room in the Moroccan style, covered in low sofas and ornate rugs.  
  
"Thank you," Draco said, entering the room. Harry followed and the door slid closed behind them.  
  
"One door, six rooms?" Harry guessed.  
  
"Precisely," Draco gleamed. He had chosen gold for this evening's robes and it looked very well against the orange and black carpets. He threw himself down as if on a chaise longue and Harry laughed at him.  
  
"Dates," Draco whispered to the plate in front of him, and sure enough, dates appeared.  
  
"It is a room for fantasies," Harry said.  
  
"Shall we indulge?" Draco chirped.  
  
"Not yet," Harry said. "The day has left me somewhat drained."  
  
"Come," Draco said, spreading his legs invitingly. "Sit with me."  
  
Harry smiled, and turned to sit down between Draco's legs, his back to Draco's chest.  
  
"So tell me," Draco said, his breath tickling Harry's ear. "What tribulations did the day bring?" His hands came up to rub at Harry's shoulders, soothing the tension from his body.  
  
"A discourse on the subject of marriage," Harry said, setting his jaw.  
  
"Of course," Draco said. "But Black is a bachelor. Did he then offer much insight into the subject?"  
  
"No, Sirius spoke only of our business affairs. Remus was his proxy."  
  
Draco's smirk suffused his tone as he said, "Indeed?"  
  
"Is ‘proxy’ another of your odd euphemisms?" Harry asked, exasperated.

" _Cock alley_ is not particularly opaque in meaning, Potter," Draco returned.  
  
Harry shook his head and sipped at his mead. "In any case, it was a little unpleasant."  
  
"I can imagine."  
  
"Can you?"  
  
Draco snorted. "Do you think that because I am unmarried I never hear of the topic? Quite the opposite, I assure you. Mother nags me endlessly about choosing a bride, starting a family. She and Father both wish me to marry and of course I shall have to, I suppose. But I could never love a woman, or wish to lie with her. I never did care for a single girl in the world."  
  
Harry did not want to think of Draco taking a wife. Instead he asked, "Never at all?"  
  
"I suppose there was Pansy Parkinson," Draco admitted. "She was more a co-conspirator than a beloved, though. Things didn't quite work, somehow. She left for France under something of a cloud, scandalous wench." His tone was distinctly fond.  
  
"Did she know..."  
  
"About my criminal infatuation with my own sex?" Draco shook his head; Harry felt the movement though he could not see it. "Even I did not know until later."  
  
"Why do you suppose it was so clear to you, while I did not understand until so recently?" Harry wondered aloud.  
  
"What was most important to you when you were seventeen?" Draco asked.  
  
Harry knew the answer, of course. "I wanted a family."  
  
"And I wanted pleasure. We both pursued our goals."  
  
"Pleasure," Harry repeated, sinking deeper into Draco's embrace. "You know, it has been an extremely long time since I felt any such."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Oh, hours at least."  
  
"Well," Draco said, and his hands moved to Harry's buttons. "Let us rectify that at once."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... it's still Monday somewhere, right?

"Ah, there you are Harry!" Sirius said as Harry hastened through the foyer of the Ministry of Magic. He was dressed in the purple robes that signified him as a Wizengamot member, and as various staff and visitors hurried past him, they each in turn gave him a small bow of acknowledgement.  
  
"Forgive my being late, Sirius," Harry said, breathless. His best attempts at hurrying had been thwarted by Draco, who had seemed determined that if Harry was indeed to visit the Ministry, he should only do so thoroughly dishevelled, covered in marks beneath his robes.  
  
"You know I cannot resist you," Harry gasped, wrenching himself away, "but I must go, I must!"  
  
"You say you cannot resist," Draco countered, "and yet there you are, all but fully dressed." Draco himself was naked and golden in the morning light, wrapped partly in a blanket to guard against the cold but the effect was far from demure. His mouth, vulnerable, hinted at the delights which might be found in the coiled spring of his muscles. His eyes were full of challenge and demand.  
  
He shifted his weight all at once so that he was on all fours, crawling towards Harry as his eyes burned. "You cannot leave," Draco said, his mouth wetting his lips as Harry stood, transfixed. "Not until I am finished with you."  
  
"Sleepy start this morning?" Sirius asked, bringing Harry's attention back to the present.

Harry followed him toward the lift. The Wizengamot rooms were all on the second floor of the Ministry and comprised some ten courtrooms, two assembly rooms and various and sundry antechambers.  
  
"There's a fairly small sitting today," Sirius said as the lift lurched to a halt. "Just the committee on experimental charms and the committee on Muggle relations."  
  
"I imagine that latter can be the source of considerable controversy," Harry said with something of a sardonic note in his voice.  
  
Sirius grimaced as he stepped into the dark corridor. "Lucius Malfoy has been trying to obtain a seat. So far he has been blocked but he is a powerful man, buying considerable influence. As long as we have Eldritch Diggory as Minister for Magic, his influence can only extend so far. Good man, Diggory."  
  
Harry lowered his eyes. "His nephew would have been, as well."  
  
"Not a doubt in my mind," Sirius said gently, before resuming his briskness. "I must prepare for the Muggle relations committee. We're due to begin at half past eleven, though to be frank it will more likely be after luncheon."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"The committee on experimental charms tends to run late." His tone tempted Harry to ask further questions, but they had reached the entrance to the main hall. Above the door was inscribed, _The Right Honourable Lords Magical of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland in Wizengamot Assembled_. Through the door Harry could see dark wood benches lined with white leather for seating.  
  
"The entrance to the public gallery is over there," Sirius said, pointing, but Harry had already seen a flash of familiar pale blond hair.  
  
In the centre of the assembly room stood Lucius, Lord Malfoy. His hair gleamed in the light, and as he turned, Harry felt a mental blast as steel grey eyes met his.  
  
Harry swallowed. "I thought you said Lord Malfoy was not a member of this committee."  
  
Sirius glanced at Harry. "Not this committee, no, but he does sit on experimental charms. There is nothing to fear, Harry, provided we are able to oppose him thus."  
  
"Nothing to fear," Harry echoed. Of course there was nothing to fear. Harry had once blazed defiance and strength into the face of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had always been rather mild-mannered and this attitude had become more and more of a habit in recent years to the point where he even felt himself meek, but he had not expected that even Sirius would have been so deceived. The self-loathing threatened to flare again; Harry forced it down.

  
"I shall be in the public gallery," he said, and moved to the door Sirius indicated.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
"I congratulate my honourable friend on securing this important debate on a subject that I know is close to his heart," Lord Malfoy was saying. "I echo his comments and point out that, at present, research into such areas is heavily restricted and that it may be to our benefit to consider issuing a permit, at least insofar as we wish to develop such a charm further."  
  
The committee was comprised, quite deliberately, of many people with different areas of interest and different agendas. Lord Malfoy was speaking in support of Lord Blishwick, and those two seemed to have Lord Scrimgeour firmly on his side while the opposite case was being argued by Lord Prewett and Lady Longbottom. Harry had not seen Neville's grandmother in many years and, despite age which would have bowed a Muggle woman, she was still proud and fierce as she ever had been.  
  
"While I thank the honourable gentlemen for returning our attention to this matter," she said, her tone sharp, "is it not the case that the ban exists because of the severe ethical concerns of the whole committee as to the possible applications of any such charm?"  
  
"To qualify the honourable member's assertion, let it be known that the lack of a strategy focused on the latest information is one of the problems we face," Lord Malfoy said smoothly. "Homogenising a range of issues into one and labelling it 'hysteria' is counter-productive to ensuring the best health of wizarding society."  
  
"We can all agree on that point," Lady Longbottom said acidly. "However, as adequate definitions can never be agreed due to the honourable gentleman's continually questioning the bias of healers who make recommendations to this committee, I would suggest that the quandary is of his own making."  
  
Harry had not had reason to debate anything more serious than a visit or the hiring of a servant since leaving school and the twists and turns of this debate were taxing him. He was learning more from observing the parties involved; Lady Longbottom had long given up any pretence and was frank about her distaste for some of the others. Lord Prewett was not a skilled speaker, but he was sharp and often asked questions that cut to the heart of the matter. Blishwick had an air of begging for favour. The other members of the committee he had not heard enough from to make judgements. Lord Malfoy, however…  
  
Harry would not fear him, but he now better understood Sirius' words: Lord Malfoy was a skilled orator, articulate and convincing as he made arguments that ran counter to everything in which Harry believed.  
  
He won the vote.  
  
As the Chair brought an end to the debate, Harry looked up to find Lord Malfoy's gaze locked upon him. Harry returned the appraisal for a long moment then turned deliberately away.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
"I saw your father in the Wizengamot today," Harry remarked to Draco later that evening, back in their suite.  
  
"Oh?" Draco was the picture of nonchalance at this, save for the way his fingers twitched. He had a nervous habit of fiddling with his cufflinks; Harry had noticed that they were charmed to sit perfectly in place, meaning that the only time Draco needed to reach for them was when he was desperate to give his hands something to do. "And what was he arguing today?"  
  
"Wanted to approve an experimental charm, but some of the others thought it was dark magic."  
  
"Did you agree with them?"  
  
Harry hadn't expected such a direct question. "Er," he said.  
  
"Meaning yes." Harry could hardly be surprised if Draco had learned some of his tells in his turn. Draco examined his cuff at length and Harry had to fight the urge to say something that would no doubt come out all wrong.  
  
"Draco," he said at last, "do you always agree with your father?"  
  
Draco snorted. "Of course not. But nor does that mean that I am completely opposed to his political stances either."  
  
Harry's jaw tightened. "The charm they were talking about could be used to torture people, Draco, or at the very least humiliate them."  
  
"What was it today?"  
  
"Something called _Levicorpus_."  
  
"I'm familiar with it," Draco said. Of course he was, Harry thought, his father must have talked about it on one of the evenings Draco disappeared home to the Manor. "It could also be used to apprehend criminals and intruders, to halt someone running away be they a miscreant or a child running into danger. I assume you have thought through all your objections and are not merely opposed to the idea as a matter of reflex?"  
  
Harry folded his arms over his chest; he had not yet put on his jacket, and so his linen shirt slid easily along his red silk waistcoat. "Permitting Aurors to use such a spell in special circumstances is hardly the same as indicating to the general population that such tactics should be used freely."  
  
"Indeed, where would we be if we could all defend ourselves?" Draco said, finally dropping his sleeve and looking at Harry with his left eyebrow forming an ironical arch.  
  
Harry was troubled by another thought, one which had come to him periodically before now, but which had in every case before been ruthlessly shoved to the back of his mind. Now, however, he felt the need to ask. "How much of your father's politics do you agree with?"  
  
Draco turned fully towards Harry. "Politics? We are dressing for dinner and you wish to further discuss politics?"  
  
"We never have," Harry pointed out softly.  
  
"Because I think we already know that our views are utterly dissimilar," Draco said, reaching for his cravat on the dressing table. "You believe that someone of no wizarding family, who has never studied our traditions, who had no knowledge of our culture until they were already more than halfway to being of age," Draco's fingers tugged angrily at his cravat, belying his cool tone. "We play with Muggle things perhaps but we have culture of our own – art and literature and music, families and etiquette. Is that all meaningless? Should someone who has never known these things be not only regarded as equal to the best of us but permitted to rearrange our whole society to better suit himself?"

"So do I not belong here?" Harry spat. "I, who lived my youngest years outside this world?"  
  
Draco's fingers stilled. He dropped his hands and leaned forward onto the dressing table, gripping the table's edge tightly. "You are a half-blood," Draco said quietly. "This world is as much yours as is the other, and you know that. But consider your friend, the one who married Weasley."

"Hermione," Harry said and his chin jerked up, daring Draco to say a word against her.  
  
"Indeed. How often now does she see her family?"  
  
The question caught Harry off guard. "I do not know."  
  
Draco nodded, and looked back over to where Harry stood, still rigid against the wall. "And I am sure that while at school she visited you, or she visited the Weasleys. Did you ever visit her home, her Muggle home?"  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "No, I cannot recall that we did."  
  
"So in fact between school and such visits, Miss Granger as was spent barely any time at all with her family even before she left them behind to spend her life in our world. Well and so, one cannot live forever with one’s loyalties divided and of course she would want to leave the Muggle world behind! But by her very existence, she has exposed our world to an entire Muggle family, who perhaps have friends, who in turn have acquaintances..."  
  
"Hermione would never put us in danger," Harry objected, by he was troubled.  
  
"I will defer to your superior knowledge of her character," Draco said, and his tone was taking on that particular bite, familiar from any occasion on which Harry had complimented someone other than himself. "I will merely confine myself to remarking that even if you trust her and her immediate family, do you suppose every Muggle in the country is capable of blithely accepting the presence of a Changeling in their midst? Do you suppose it has never ended in tragedy all around?"  
  
Harry knew it had. A young girl, only just of age, had asked for consent to marry a Muggle, and broke the Statute of Secrecy because she wanted to be honest with him. The Muggle had called her an affront to the natural order and run her though with a sword before setting fire to her parents' home.  
  
The Muggle man had hanged in the end. It was felt that sending him to Azkaban would be inappropriate.  
  
"That does not mean that the witch or wizard is inferior to others, nor that they should be treated as such," Harry protested.  
  
Draco shrugged. "The world is the way it is. Pureblood numbers dwindle, the number of half-bloods increases and the mudbloods shall inherit the wizarding world after they have bled all the old ways out of it."  
  
"Don't use that word," Harry said dangerously.  
  
"Muggle-born, then, have it your way. It is mere semantics."  
  
"It enables you in thinking some people below others because of an accident of birth."  
  
Draco laughed. "Oh, indeed? And in the Muggle world, are there not lords and servants, rich and poor, prostitutes and those who buy them? They may have different measures of who is deserving and who is not, but are you telling me they are better?"  
  
"I thought you believed we were the better," Harry said, and Draco's eyes narrowed. "You cannot truly think that change would be the end of things?" Harry shook his head in disbelief.  
  
"The end of the old ways, certainly."  
  
"The 'old ways' are constantly changing. Consider the rise of the cities. Not so very long ago most of the Muggle population lived on farms."  
  
"And now they live in slums," Draco returned. "Perhaps the life of the farmer would not now seem so very hard to some?"  
  
It was an argument with no resolution. Harry wanted to keep talking, to tell Draco of all the fine things he saw in Hermione, and had seen in Colin Creevey, and all the others he'd known who according to Draco had no place in their world. But he was not a skilled orator and he could not see how he might change Draco's mind.  
  
Their dinner was not so pleasant as those that had preceded it, and for the first night since they had begun living together, they did not make love.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
"You seem troubled," Sirius remarked one afternoon in early December.  
  
"Indeed," Harry conceded. The argument between he and Draco had not been resolved so much as it had been pushed to one side and neglected, but still it weighed on Harry's mind, casting a shadow over their days and nights together.  
  
"What is the matter?"  
  
Harry sighed. "I was engaged in a discussion not so very long ago about the role of the Muggle-born in the wizarding world."  
  
"With whom?"  
  
Harry hesitated. "Blaise Zabini."  
  
Sirius' eyebrows rose. "I did not know you were acquainted."  
  
"He was present in Scotland," Harry said. "He is a very urbane man, well-spoken. And he argued his case so fluently that I did not know how to put my own forward. To me it is so self-evident that progress in the world should be based on merit that I cannot understand people who think otherwise, yet I find that when challenged, I cannot articulate my reasoning."

Sirius frowned. "I do not know if it is something which can come from reason, Harry. Either one sees others as people with value, or one does not. In this regard I fear you are far better than I. I disregarded the feelings of my servants in my younger years and it took you to show me that I should treat house-elves just the same as I should treat a wizard or a goblin or a Muggle." Sirius' lip curled. "They can damage or elevate us just as well as our friends or families.

Harry was not sure what to say in response. "It was Hermione who taught me to think of such things," he demurred, but Sirius shook his head.  
  
"No, indeed, you have always been much kinder than I."  
  
Harry lifted his teacup to his mouth. He had meant only to visit in passing, but Sirius had been so happy to see him; he had again been deprived of company in recent weeks, what with Remus being busy at Hogwarts and Harry focused on Draco. Sirius had few friends, though he was received by all the best families.  
  
Harry wondered if there had ever been anyone for Sirius, perhaps someone who'd been lost in the war. It was the one subject they never spoke of.  
  
Sirius drained his cup in a rush and deposited it back on the table. "I understand what you are trying to do," he said and Harry dragged his mind back to the topic at hand. "And yes, perhaps we must re-educate the population in order to ensure that the future does not merely repeat the past, but I fear that it must begin with children. Young though you still are, I would be surprised if you could change Zabini's mind."  
  
Harry sighed inwardly, disappointed that Sirius' response did not offer him any solution. But what had he expected? Sirius fought the symptoms, not the disease.  
  
"Was his mother with him in the north by any chance?" Sirius asked, mischief in his eyes.  
  
"She was."  
  
Sirius shook his head. "Damn fine woman."  
  
Harry blinked to himself. This was not a possibility he had considered. "She was terrifying."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure she was," Sirius said, reaching out to pat Harry's shoulder. "She does exactly what she wants, and while that's a trait worth admiring it's also something to stay far, far away from."  
  
Harry acknowledged the warning with a raise of his teacup by way of salute.  
  
"On the subject of women," Sirius said awkwardly.  
  
Harry tensed.  
  
"Have you thought yet of what you will do for Christmas?"  
  
Harry replaced his cup in its saucer. "I will go to the Burrow; I cannot disappoint the children, and of course I am keen to see them myself. Ginny has already written to me to ask that I go to Godric's Hollow a little in advance of the trip." He smiled. “She tells me that James has grown a whole inch!”  
  
Sirius nodded. "Do the other Weasleys...?" He trailed off, trying to be delicate.  
  
"They were surprised to hear that we were living apart, but they understand that sometimes it is a necessity when a man takes on responsibilities such as those of our family," Harry said softly. Granted, there had been a few questions. Ron, after all, took the Floo a great distance every night to be with Hermione and their infant daughter. But Bill often visited exotic locales in his work while Fleur was left behind. Questions had been asked, certainly, and there would no doubt be a slew of them to come on such an occasion, but Harry longed to see James and Albus and Lily.

He had, however, been consciously avoiding Ron and Hermione, knowing that one or both of them must have choice words for him.  
  
"Very well. I presume my invitation will arrive once you have confirmed your attendance with the family Matriarch," Sirius said drily.  
  
"Molly doesn't hate you," Harry said, having heard this one before. He still was not completely convinced that he spoke the truth of it, but he was determined that Sirius should believe it.  
  
"But she only invites me for your sake; Remus and Teddy she will invite in any case."  
  
Harry smiled. "It will be delightful to see them."  
  
"As always," Sirius agreed. "Perhaps you can talk to Remus about how to express yourself to Zabini?"  
  
"What? Oh - yes," Harry said, recovering himself, but not quite quickly enough. Sirius appeared to notice the slip but chose to see it as mere distraction at the thought of Christmas.  
  
He had in fact reminded Harry that he would have to tell Draco he was going. Harry was not relishing the prospect in the slightest.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
As it happened, it was Draco who broached the subject first. He'd returned to their suite to find Draco in an affectionate mood. Draco had been lounging on the chaise longue in only trousers and linen, his shirt collar open and his sleeves rolled up.  
  
"Hallo," he'd practically purred, and Harry had gone to kneel by his side, kissing him thoroughly. Draco had arched up against him, sliding a hand into Harry's hair.  
  
"I was just thinking about you," Draco whispered when Harry pulled back. "I was just lying here and thinking about you and I felt myself begin to grow hard." He caught Harry's hand and brought it to his groin by way of proof. Harry squeezed gently, and felt Draco's cock grow from half to fully erect.  
  
"Indeed," Harry said in a low voice. "And what would you have done if I had not come home in time to find you like this?"  
  
Draco's mouth curved into that particular smirk which indicated that he was about to say something he hoped Harry would find filthy. "Why, I would have reached for the oil and stroked myself, of course," he said, his fingers caressing Harry's where they lay over his cock. "I would have slicked up my hand and touched myself ever so slowly, hoping that you would come and find me, save me from my frustration."  
  
"Show me," Harry said heavily, and Draco did, sliding his shirt from his shoulders and opening his trousers to slide one hand on his cock. His other hand curled awkwardly around Harry's face, elbow bent, wrist against cheek, fingers tight in dark unruly hair. Draco gasped and tugged and Harry watched, rapt, never looking away except to press the occasional kiss to Draco's wrist.  
  
When Draco came with a shuddering sigh, Harry licked his hand clean. "So beautiful," Harry said. His own cock was pressing hard and insistent against his clothes so when Draco pushed him back on the floor and took his length into that mouth, Harry barely took any time at all to follow Draco into bliss.  
  
They lay there a while, Draco all but naked, Harry still fully clothed but everything askew.  
  
"You were longer than I expected," Draco said.  
  
It reminded Harry of Ginny, something in the tone of it which on the surface seemed mild but beneath held a kind of accusation.  
  
"I was caught in conversation," Harry said.  
  
"Mm, no matter," Draco said. "I was waiting for you; we need to visit Twilfit & Tattings."  
  
"Merlin's beard, Draco, more clothes?"  
  
"For the Yule Ball at the Manor," Draco said. "Did I not tell you? It is by far Mother's favourite event of the year. Everyone must wear white or palest blue, most of the Ministry will be in attendance, and the finest families in the land are all invited."  
  
"I think Sirius mentioned that your family held a ball at this time," Harry said carefully, remembering Sirius' snorting about the pureblood pretensions. It was a Black tradition rather than a Malfoy one, and Sirius had recollected sneaking down with his brother to watch the festivities which according to him were "archaic and designed to secure them in their superiority".  
  
Draco was still talking. "We shall both need new robes, of course."  
  
Harry stilled. "You wish for me to attend?"  
  
Draco laughed. "Well, while you are not precisely my acknowledged lover I should still think it very hard if you could not at least be seen to attend. You can rub your presence right in all their faces - and there will be some who will be delighted to see you, I know."  
  
Harry tried to imagine himself, all in white, in a room with Lord and Lady Malfoy and their ilk, all the purebloods raising their eyebrows at his half-blood self. So many people with such vile beliefs, all in a room to reassure one another that the world hadn't changed at all. A networking opportunity that some would give their teeth for, to be certain, but a prospect that filled Harry with dread.  
  
Regardless, "Draco, I cannot attend such a party, you must see that."  
  
Harry had tried for the gentlest tone he could muster but some of his horror must have shown through, as Draco jerked away from him at once. "No, I do not see that. Why should that be?"  
  
Harry reached for Draco's hand but he pulled it away. "Draco, even aside from how difficult it would be for me to attend such an exclusively pureblood event, I must visit my children at Christmas time."  
  
Draco scoffed.  
  
"Draco, we have had this conversation before," Harry said, a warning creeping into his tone. "I am still a man with a family. But it will be perhaps a fortnight at most..."  
  
"Of course," Draco spat. "Of course, take a fortnight to visit your wife and your red-headed in-laws rather than taking the time to even try to make yourself known to my social circle."  
  
"I know Blaise," Harry said.  
  
A mistake, he saw at once. "Oh, indeed, you know Blaise. And Blaise has designs upon you, I suppose you enjoy knowing that."  
  
"I didn't know that," Harry retorted, though he'd had a notion. "And I have also met both of your parents, if you recall, and they did not exactly look kindly on our acquaintance."  
  
"And here I offer you the opportunity to change their minds," Draco stormed, pulling his trousers up his legs, "and you dismiss it out of hand."  
  
Feeling at a disadvantage from his position on the floor, Harry stood, righting his clothes. "Draco, what would you have me do? I am married, I am a father, I have responsibilities and you knew all of that long before now."  
  
Draco, pulling on his shirt, looked furious already but Harry was far from finished.  
  
"You said it yourself: I am not your acknowledged lover, nor likely to be. There is too much standing in the way. You wish me to make a better impression on your parents? Understandable if we were courting - but even if they came to accept me as your friend do you sincerely believe that they would welcome a _male_ lover of yours?"  
  
"You won't even try!" Draco snapped. "You'd rather go and bury yourself back in that nowhere marriage where it's nice and safe - you're pathetic."  
  
Harry flinched, feeling for all the world as though Draco had struck him. "Draco, I would be back in January..."  
  
"Oh, fuck January." Draco was livid; Harry could barely believe that mere minutes before he'd been contented, purring and bringing Harry pleasure. The divide between them had never been as apparent, never blindsided Harry so completely. "Fuck January, fuck your family and fuck you."  
  
Harry's patience gave way. "This is intolerable! Draco, what right..."  
  
Draco grabbed his waistcoat and jacket in one swift motion from where they lay discarded on a chair. "What right? None - it is clear that I am far, far down your list of priorities and so I leave you to deal with the things that _are_ important to you." His tone grew more and more vicious as he dressed. "So go back and drool over your children and wrap yourself up in your wife and perhaps indulge in some furtive stroking of your arbor vitae if you can face your sodomite self for long enough!"  
  
Harry felt himself go slack-jawed. "I gave up so much to be here with you."  
  
Draco laughed shortly and reached for his robe, pulling his wand from a pocket. Instinctively, Harry reached for his; Draco noticed the movement.  
  
"You think I'd expend the effort to curse you, Harry? What could I do to make your life worse?"  
  
"You’ve destroyed it already," Harry threw at him.  
  
Draco's chin lifted. "And yet back you shall go and all shall be as it was, not so? Off you go then, Harry, and I shall go back to my life. I'm sure there's more than one renter in need of a good fuck - enjoy your inertia." And then, with a spin and a crack, Draco was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Four days Harry remained in the suite that had been his home with Draco – for that was precisely how he had thought of it and there was no sense lying to himself now. Draco was not coming back, not even to collect his things. Or perhaps he would only after he was quite certain that Harry was no longer in residence.  
  
He could not face the thought of Godric's Hollow and his familial home so he wrote to Ginny to let her know that business would hold him in town a few days longer and he would instead travel to the Burrow with Sirius on the twenty-third.  
  
Harry sent the owl and promptly decided to pack up the things he'd had when he first came to take this hotel room. He somehow could not bear to touch any of Draco's clothes, or the numerous, impulsive things Draco bought whenever they went anywhere –a watch chain decorated with silver Muggle coins of differing sizes which had so fascinated him by their unfamiliar shapes. Pocket squares of unusual materials and colours covered the dressing table where Draco had charmed them all to take the form of animals and dance.  
  
Some of these odd acquisitions he had presented as gifts to Harry: a green enamel ring to 'match his eyes', a pin shaped like an oak tree to signify his 'arbor vitae' – Draco loved using such double entendres and watching how they made Harry's face change.  
  
If Harry took any of those things it would be like taking a part of Draco with him. A clean break would be better, he was certain.  
  
And yet everything here now reminded him of Draco. His purple pocket square had been used to mop the sweat from his Draco's face as he writhed beneath Harry, and still carried his scent. Cravats had been untied with Draco's nimble fingers. The chaise longue had been the site of many acts of coupling. The room was saturated with him.  
  
Harry briefly fantasised about setting it all on fire.  
  
And yet when the concierge asked him, "And will you be staying with us over Christmas, sir?" Harry's response was, "I will spend it with family, but please do hold the room until the end of January."  
  
He wasn't ready yet for this to be the end.  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Sirius gave up asking Harry why he was so quiet quarter of an hour into morning tea. Harry feared that his mood must be terribly obvious to someone who knew him well and wished for the first time that the wizarding modes of travel were not so instantaneous. He could have used the time afforded by a carriage ride to compose himself more fully, but such travel could be hazardous in winter even with magic.  
  
"I suppose after the quietude of a life alone the idea of the whole family Christmas might be intimidating," Sirius concluded at last.  
  
"I'm looking forward to seeing the children," Harry said. "And Ginny." Would she speak with him at all, Harry wondered. Would she be angry or contrite? The Ginny he had married would have lambasted him but he didn't know the woman she had become.  
  
As the clock struck eleven and the appointed time arrived, Sirius paused by the fireplace. "Harry, are you prepared for this? Truly? For if you wish it we could simply remain here. There is not much in the way of a roast dinner available, to be certain, but I am sure Dobby would be delighted to whip something up for you."  
  
A laugh was startled from Harry's mouth. "Do I appear so very desperate?"  
  
"You are every inch the man squaring himself to face the gallows," Sirius told him, very little humour in his eyes.  
  
"Ah," Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Well, a man who walks to the gallows under his own power is much more to be respected than a man who is forced there, is it not so?"  
  
"Harry, my family was one such as a man should dread seeing," Sirius said sharply. "They were racist and prejudiced and brutal and when they passed I mourned none of them."  
  
A small hurt sound from the other end of the parlour had Sirius whirling to shout, "Not even Regulus, Kreacher!"  
  
Kreacher scuttled out of the room.  
  
Harry might have said something but Sirius was talking to him again, "You, on the other hand, have nothing to fear save the consequences of your own choices. The Weasleys will hardly send you to the gallows or to Azkaban!" His breath hitched on the name of the prison, the way most people's did on that of Lord Voldemort. "At the worst they will send you to Coventry or ask you to explain yourself."  
  
Harry stood for a moment, absorbing Sirius' remarks.  
  
Sirius shook his head. "I do not know who you are becoming, Harry. I've watched the fire bleed out of you – well and so, it happens to many as we age. It even seemed perhaps that such a calming of the soul was what you would wish. I remember you after the war, your desperation and loneliness despite all of us being there for you as best we could. And now it is as though all of that is come again when you have so much in your life, Harry!"  
  
"What have you known of responsibilities wearing the soul out?" Harry heard himself retorting. "You never married, you never had children – why not? Was it perhaps you who was afraid?"  
  
"That's enough!" Sirius bellowed.  
  
For a long moment the two of them stood in silence, staring at one another with their eyes wide. Harry swallowed hard and had to look away, bile rising in his throat. He was behaving – well, like Draco. And it was every bit as sickening as it was liberating. Harry wiped his mouth as though he could shove the words back down inside him, have them become unspoken.  
  
At length, Sirius had calmed himself enough to speak. "You are right, I did not marry. I did not take on the responsibility of a wife or children. You did. I have duties of my own which come with their own joys and demands. You have many demands upon you and you must find your own joy in your duty. We are English, Harry, and first and foremost an Englishman does his duty."  
  
A hot wash of shame flooded Harry then. "Yes, sir," he said. He had not addressed Sirius as 'sir' for years, not since he was a child being disciplined.  
  
A gentle hand on his arm made Harry look up, startled. "Are you determined to alienate all those who care for you?"  
  
Harry wanted to tell Sirius that he already was, by virtue of his new-found vice; however, his resolve to behave less like a child did not seem robust enough yet to survive such melodrama. "I am sorry. I only… Nothing has quite worked out as I hoped it would."  
  
Sirius snorted. "It is the privilege of the young to be offended when the world does not suit them; older men have learned to live with it."  
  
Harry managed a chuckle at that. "I am sorry, Sirius. I fear that for too long I denied the things I wanted and now…"  
  
"You are trying to find a new balance." Sirius nodded. "But tonight you are not facing your death! So perhaps it would do you well to remember that your family and friends love you and will forgive you a great deal."  
  
Harry nodded jerkily in acknowledgement. Was that to be it? A return to the fold, his time away considered a temporary aberration, some episode of whose effects he had been cured?  
  
"I will endeavour to believe the possibility," Harry managed.  
  
Sirius slapped him on the back a little awkwardly. "Good. Good. Now," he cleared his throat. "Shall we to the Burrow?"  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
The Burrow always felt over-full and over-decorated but at Christmastide, with almost 30 guests in the house, both of those characteristics became more pronounced. The walls seemed brighter, the lighting more pronouncedly red, the sound of so many demonstrative people in one space larger. It was all overwhelming, Harry thought, and so far removed from Draco's description of his family's ball that Harry felt his fingernails dig into his palms before he even realised he had clenched his fists.  
  
Arthur and Molly were usually effusive in the extreme when Harry and Ginny arrived. Harry could hardly pretend at surprise that their reception on this occasion was cooler, albeit cordial.  
  
Molly didn't seem to know quite what to say beyond, "Lovely to have you, Harry dear." She nodded at Sirius, who pressed a kiss to her cheek. She stepped back as Sirius straightened, and Arthur slung an arm around her shoulders. The four of them stood there, looking at one another.  
  
It was stupendously awkward.  
  
"Er, I see you have a pine tree," Harry said, desperate for something to speak of. "Following the latest fashions?"  
  
"When the Queen has spoken so much of German traditions it seemed that a move to honouring same would be a good way to encourage Molly to accept Fleur's French ideas. Recognition of Europe and so forth," Arthur said, nodding.  
  
"Quite so," Sirius said, nodding, ignoring the way Molly's lips had pursed during Arthur's speech. "Indeed I had thought to purchase such a tree for the parlour at Grimmauld Place. But it seemed wasteful as we will not have guests ourselves this Christmas."  
  
"Prudence is always the best course," said Molly, a long-time proponent of this particular virtue.  
  
"Precisely," said Arthur.  
  
"Exactly," said Sirius.  
  
"Indeed," said Harry. He shifted uncomfortably; there was no way to avoid it. "Have Ginny and the children arrived?"  
  
The tension in the air thickened.  
  
"I believe she will arrive very shortly," Arthur said in a kind tone. Harry could almost see the effort Molly was expending not to speak out; he was not hard pressed to imagine what choice words she must have for him, perhaps worsened by how very much she had always loved him.  
  
Molly opened her mouth. Harry braced himself.  
  
"Oh, goodness," said Sirius abruptly, "is that Remus over there?"  
  
With no small relief Harry and Sirius were able to excuse themselves to greet Remus and Teddy; as usual Sirius fell into immediate conversation with his oldest friend while Harry looked at Teddy.  
  
"And how are you, Teddy?" Harry asked.  
  
"I am well, Harry," Teddy replied, a radiant smile on his face. Following the direction of his gaze. Harry's eye lit on Bill and Fleur standing with their children around them.  
  
Victoire was gazing straight at Teddy, the smile on her face confident but tender.  
  
Harry gestured toward her. "I see that you have had some success in a direction close to your heart."  
  
Teddy beamed. "She is still very young but I believe that there may be an understanding growing between us."  
  
Harry smiled as best he was able; he remembered being hopeful of young love but that innocence seemed very far behind him. "That is marvellous, of course. But-- If I could give you one piece of advice, Teddy –"  
  
Teddy frowned. "Yes?"  
  
Harry sighed. "It would be not to rush."  
  
Teddy frowned faintly. "Why not rush when you know what you want?"  
  
"Because sometimes what you want can change," Harry said without thinking.  
  
Teddy shifted uncomfortably. Harry could have kicked himself: at this point the _world_ knew his business, knew that he no longer lived with Ginny. Blind items in the _Daily Prophet_ were all very well and good but the items in question would need to be blind, deaf and dumb to conceal the target of the insinuations.  
  
Harry wondered what would happen if his connection to Draco ever came to light but that was a foolish fear. It was over, done, and the risk was past just the same as the joy.  
  
The silence had gone on too long. "You and your father came with your Grandmother, of course," Harry said, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible to cover his gaffe.  
  
"Indeed. She was delighted to be spared the Black Yule Ball this year. She gets her fill of Malfoys very quickly."  
  
The name hit Harry like a blow. He forced his face to remain unchanged as he struggled to cover his emotion. "I did not think that the relationship between Andromeda and her sister was overly cordial."  
  
"At times it has not been," Teddy agreed, "but Grandmother is always invited."  
  
"As indeed Harry has a standing invitation to our home, though he doesn't often choose to visit us," said Ron from behind Harry.  
  
This, Harry had dreaded, more so even than seeing Ginny again. He knew he should not feel such a way about his wife but he felt certain that he could survive the loss of her much more easily than the loss of Ron or Hermione.  
  
When Harry turned it was to see Ron in his best robes standing there with a resigned expression on his face. Hermione was nowhere in sight.  
  
"All right, mate?" Ron asked, reaching out to clasp Harry's hand in his own.  
  
"All right," Harry responded softly. Ron stood there, solid as a rock, as he ever had been, Harry's best friend.  
  
It should have been him, shouldn't it? If he was going to love a man, it should have been Ron. Harry could have lived with that, even knowing that it would never be. Harry could have understood it. He didn't understand Draco at all and likely never would. Beautiful, yes. Complicated and intelligent but still shallow and selfish. Harry knew all of that but it changed nothing.  
  
And now he was thinking of Draco even here. It was not the suite that had become saturated with Draco after all; it was Harry himself.  
  
"You've been hiding," Ron was saying.  
  
"I suppose I have," Harry acknowledged. "It didn't start out that way; I was spending a great deal of time at the Wizengamot. I sit on four committees now."  
  
"Politics, after everything then?"  
  
Harry smiled sadly. "How much of who we are depends upon the world around us?"  
  
"Not as much, I think, with you as with some others," Ron said.  
  
Harry flinched from that a little; Ron didn't notice, intent on staring at his brothers' mulled wine glasses.  
  
"Care for a glass?" he said to Harry and, at Harry's nod, led him into the kitchen.  
  
Ron handed Harry a glass and filled it from the ladle; he then waited until Harry was raising it to his lips to speak.  
  
"Do the two of you speak often?" Ron asked.  
  
There was no misunderstanding him. Harry lowered the glass. "She sends owls," he said. "I believe she prefers the permanence of the letters."  
  
"They give her something to reread when you are not with her," said Ron, reaching for a glass of his own.  
  
If Sirius had said something of the kind Harry could have retorted but this was Ron and Harry didn't know what to say.  
  
"Everyone knows, of course," Ron said. "And there is considerable debate regarding the veracity of your motivation. But I know that you would never hurt Ginny." He squeezed Harry's shoulder in solidarity. "I know it."  
  
Harry had never felt less worthy of praise. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look into Ron's face and smile and nod his agreement.  
  
"Indeed." It was Hermione; Harry hadn't heard her coming to join them and had rather counted on her being caught in Molly's effusive embrace for a few moments more. Harry took a fortifying sip of the wine.  
  
Hermione eyed Harry askance. "Ron, would you mind fetching my bag? I believe I left it in the other room."

  
As ruses went, it was far from Hermione's most subtle but Harry was in no position to object. Ron didn't even look at her curiously, he just said, "Of course," and was gone.  
  
The moment Hermione had Harry alone, she rounded on him. It was little more than he had been expecting.  
  
"What on earth, Harry?" she demanded. "You tell me you fear you are under a love spell and when we find that you are not, you abandon your wife and children?"  
  
"I know what you're thinking…" he began.  
  
"Indeed?" Hermione spat. She glared at him another moment then pulled out her wand. Harry wondered for a moment if she meant to hex him but instead she pointed her wand at the door, whispering the spell that would prevent them from being overheard. "You know that I am thinking of how hurt Ginny has been and yet how staunchly she has defended you against all criticism? I have said not one word of my suspicions to her and yet I can see in her face that she feels she has failed you as a wife?"  
  
"It just happened," he pleaded, knowing it to be a lie. He should feel it, shouldn't he, should feel shame at his infidelity and at his perversion but he could not. The knife twisted at the thought of Ginny's pain but he would not this time destroy himself to save another. "All right, it didn't," he decided suddenly. "Hermione, I…"  
  
"No, Harry," Hermione burst out. "No, please don't say whatever it is. I do not wish to be a party to this, not this. You always did the right thing, Harry, always looked after others, always made the sacrifices you had to make. You always thought of duty and what had to be done."  
  
Yes, he had. Was he weaker now? Tired, perhaps? Tired of lying now that he knew what had been missing all that time.  
  
"People are human," Harry said quietly. "Even I, though the world has scarce allowed me to be so. Sometimes our feelings get the better of us, sometimes decisions do not seem so black and white as you would paint them."  
  
"You have hurt—"  
  
"I know," Harry interjected with some force, conscious of the doorframe and the people beyond it and everything else which might intrude on this moment and make it worse, so much worse. "I have hurt my wife and I will endeavour to desist from doing so but do not tell me that you know how my marriage has been."  
  
"You were fine until…"  
  
"I told you no, Hermione," said Harry firmly. "No, you do not know what happens between Ginny and I. You and Ron have your own children and your lives to attend to but I had barely seen you for months before this happened and with Ginny so ill and everything focused on the children, I was lonely."  
  
Hermione didn't speak.  
  
"You may say it is selfish and I cannot help but agree. But I have been desperately lonely, Hermione," Harry said, pleading now.  
  
"There is," Hermione said, breathing out hard, "one thing I must know."  
  
Harry's mind raced but he forced himself to stay calm.  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
"It is," Harry said, certain of that if he was certain of nothing else in his life.  
  
"Are you going to return to living with Ginny?"  
  
Harry rubbed his face. "I do not know, Hermione. I know our separation is making her unhappy but I cannot guarantee that things would improve between the two of us were I to return to her. She is no longer the girl I married."  
  
"She is no longer able to be," Hermione said. "She is a mother now, she cannot engage in Quidditch games with the same recklessness."  
  
"She was something to see, was she not?" Harry said almost to himself.  
  
"You loved her," Hermione said, perhaps trying to remind him. "But it is not just Ginny you have cut off, you know. You have not made time for Ron and I, nor have you visited Molly and Arthur here."  
  
Harry found himself rather less able to defend himself on that score. "I have not been bombarded with invitations," he said and while it was true it was little excuse. Between themselves there had never been much formality.  
  
Hermione did not press the issue, instead saying simply, "Perhaps that is a failing which we need to redress. We miss and love you, Harry. We all want you to come back to us."  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
When he returned to the other room, Sirius was laughing with Arthur. Almost the entire clan Weasley had assembled, and there in the corner by her brother Charlie was Ginny.  
  
She looked tired, Harry thought. Tired and pale. Unhappy. He knew it.  
  
"There is no one road that will make us all happy," he said to himself quietly. Had he grown to be as selfish as Draco in turning away from them?

“Daddy!” came a high-pitched cheer and Harry found himself being hugged from the knees down by his sons.

“Boys,” he replied. “Oh, my boys.” He knelt to embrace them properly, looking at his features and Ginny’s reflected in their faces and wondering who they were becoming.

“Uncle Ron said he’d read to me from _Martin Miggs_ later!” James said happily. “Muggles sound so strange.”

Albus said something too but it was a more childish babble and Harry could not quite decipher it. He wondered if he would have been able, had he spent more time at home. He touched Albus’s face tenderly and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.  
  
Then Ginny saw him and turned, meeting his gaze with a real effort at a smile.  
  
Harry stood at once as a good husband should. “Boys, I’m going to see your mother -why don’t you play with your cousins and I’ll join you soon.” The two scampered off while Harry crossed the room to take his wife’s hand hand, drop a kiss on her knuckles. "Ginny," he said simply.  
  
"Harry," she said in response. "Charlie, would you excuse us?"  
  
Charlie's arms were full of Lily, but he didn't pause a moment. "I'll just keep this one a while," he said, ignoring the tension in that kind way he had of pretending oblivion.  
  
Ginny watched Charlie go for just a moment then looked at Harry and suddenly the sadness was gone. Her expression had turned fierce and blazing; she had steeled herself for this.  
  
"Harry," she said and her voice was perfectly even. "Harry, it may be a shame and a scandal but if you will not live with me then perhaps we should think of a divorce."  
  
For a moment Harry could not believe that he was hearing her correctly.  
  
"I mean it," she said, seeing his face. "If you mean to turn away from me and the children better you do it completely. If you were taking a holiday from us you would keep in better touch. I know not what you have been doing and, while my thoughts have run quite wild, I do not allow myself the luxury of dwelling overlong on speculation. I merely ask that you do me the courtesy of being honest about your intentions."  
  
"Not this," Harry blurted out. "Never this, I never… Ginny…"  
  
Ginny turned her head slightly to look into the room. Harry looked at the familiar curves of her face in profile. Strange, he had never thought of how he would be without her and yet this sudden question – which he must concede she was well within her rights to contemplate – had his head in a spin.  
  
"Do you intend to end our marriage?" she asked bluntly.  
  
"No," Harry said and took her hand. Now he knew himself to be selfish and the worst type of coward for he would have been much better able to face losing Ginny had he not lost Draco. But there were other things to think of. "Ginny, I have loved you for years and I love you still. I have felt only… unnecessary. No – confined. You wish to do specific things in certain ways and I feel as though I never meet your requirements any more. I did not know how to talk to you of it because you were so weakened."  
  
"So you abandoned me instead," Ginny said grimly. Harry felt shame colour his face. "I cannot live in this limbo," Ginny went on. "I have come to see that I have not been making you happy. Well and so: but avoiding our marriage is hardly likely to improve it."  
  
"You are right," Harry said faintly.  
  
Ginny chanced a look at him then and seemed encouraged by what she saw. "Then we shall discuss, tomorrow, how we shall proceed?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said, looking into her dear face and thinking of the love he did not have and the many he did.  
  
He would be worthy of those loves again.  
  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
After dinner, after the celebration and the fireplace and the snide remarks on his time in London from Percy and Audrey, after the drinks and the jokes and the games of Chess and Snap, after all of that, Harry had lain awake for hours. There was insufficient space at the Burrow, so he and Sirius had returned to Grimmauld Place to sleep. Ginny was to stay at her childhood home that night and they would meet tomorrow.  
  
But tonight he could not sleep.  
  
Just a moment, he told himself. Just a moment to gather his thoughts and to remember, and then he would return.  
  
So Harry dressed himself quickly and Apparated to the suite.  
  
He had thought he would just look, collect anything of value and hide anything which marked the prior residents as wizards before he gave up the room. Instead he found himself overwhelmed by the memories. Draco and I made love _there_ and _there_ and…  
  
Harry reached out to touch the furniture and the things of Draco's lying haphazardly around. Would it be too dangerous to keep even one?  
  
He would stop this, he would.  
  
When a loud _crack_ sounded behind him, Harry spun at once, pulling his wand out and levelling it at the door.  
  
It was Draco.  
  
"You're here," Harry said stupidly, his wand forgotten.  
  
Draco shifted. "I had a charm. So that I would know when you came back. If you came. I was by no means certain that you would." Draco looked as uncertain as Harry had ever seen him. His robes were winter white and his waistcoat embroidered with snowflakes and he had blue bruise-circles beneath his eyes. He was slightly thinner in the face, too. It had only been a fortnight but Draco weighed barely enough even at the best of times.  
  
Harry swallowed hard and turned his face away, forcing himself to do something other than drink in the angles of Draco's face, tired and drawn but still achingly precious. "I should return to my family," he said. "I should go and never look for you again, never touch you again."  
  
Draco said nothing in his own defence. Instead he said simply, "Will you?"  
  
Harry would have given a different answer had he fully resolved to lie to himself. "I cannot." He laughed, hollow. "I remember when I was strong enough to do whatever needed to be done but somehow you have infiltrated all my defences."  
  
"You continue to comfort yourself with the notion that you have no choice," Draco said though his tone was, for him, exceedingly gentle.  
  
"It feels as though I do not," Harry said, raising his head, looking towards Draco once more and taking in the details of that face, imperfect and beloved. "I see you and my very soul leaps within me. It seems to me a great achievement that you have been in the room for the better part of a minute and I have managed not to reach for you. You have a great deal of power over me, Draco, and I fear that you are unafraid of exerting it."  
  
"I want to," Draco said simply. "I want you to be mine and only mine, to forget about everything in this world other than you and I."  
  
"That is not who I am."  
  
"I know who you are," Draco said at once. "I know also that when you chose me, you made me a part of you."  
  
"I did," Harry said, and he knew it for truth. If the best parts of him were his mother and father and Sirius, with shades of Ginny and Ron and Hermione, then the part which had become increasingly important, the passionate, demanding, selfish heart of him – that was Draco. "I cannot control that part within me any more than I can control you."  
  
"And yet I too find myself behaving uncharacteristically," Draco said. "I have never cared before whether a lover chose to stay or go. You…" his voice trailed away.  
  
"You care whether I stay?"  
  
Draco met his gaze levelly. "I fear that another will steal you from me. I am near consumed with these thoughts and I find myself hating your friends, your godson and most especially your wife and children."  
  
It should have shocked Harry but it did not; it was nothing he had not already known. It should have revolted him but instead it made him shiver; had he not felt the thrill of being possessed by Draco?  
  
But Draco was still speaking. "Can you promise that no one will?"  
  
Harry did not know what to say.  
  
"You cannot promise that, you know you cannot," Draco cried. "And I…"  
  
Harry did the only thing he could think of, reaching out as he had wanted to do since Draco had entered the room. His wand was still clutched in his right hand so he reached out with his left, grasping the back of Draco's neck and pulling him closer. He kissed Draco to quiet him, just a touch of lips, and then pressed their foreheads together, breathing in Draco's scent and feeling the heat of his body so near.  
  
"I love you," Harry whispered. "I can promise you that. Please don't use it against me."  
  
"I won't," Draco whispered back, his fingers clutching tightly at Harry's elbows, shoulders, back. "I won't, I promise, I promise, I won't. Stay with me."  
  
"I'll stay," Harry agreed.  
  
 **End of Book Two**


	13. Chapter 13

**Interlude  
  
**

_HMP Pentonville, Summer 1852  
_  
Harry stumbled as he entered the visiting room of the prison. As the door closed behind him, he looked into the one face he had been so desperate to see.  
  
"You came," he breathed, and felt the sharp sting of tears behind his eyes as he looked into the face he had feared he would never see again.  
  
"Of course I came, Harry," Ginny said gently.  
  
Harry looked away. "Your family counselled you against it, I am sure."  
  
Ginny did not deny it. "Will you not sit down?" she said instead.  
  
Harry sat a little awkwardly, still stiff from the long nights spent on the floor in the damp.  
  
Ginny's gaze kept darting back and forth, from Harry's face to his chafed wrists to his torn clothes.  
  
"I am sorry I could not look better for you," Harry said.  
  
Ginny met his eyes. "You will be convicted, Harry," she said quietly. "There is no question of that after yesterday."  
  
"I know," Harry said, rubbing his wrists. "Oh, Ginny, how can I ever…"  
  
"Do not apologise to me," she said at once. "I cannot bear it. I cannot bear—" her voice wavered and she was silent for a moment, her head falling forward to enable her to stare at her gloved fingers until she regained control; Harry watched her trying not to cry and nearly wept himself.  
  
When she looked up again he saw in her expression the steel that had been there before the Battle for Hogwarts. "My family are divided," she began. "Some would have me dissociate myself from you at once, some would see me stand by you. Lord Malfoy pretends sympathy and says that if need be he will see the very law of the land changed so that I may divorce you."  
  
"That—" Harry couldn't think of a word bad enough.  
  
Ginny held up her hand to quell him. "I cannot plan for the future until the sentence is passed. I cannot however see how we could possibly resume our married life as it was before."  
  
"No," Harry said. "No, we could not." He had destroyed that.  
  
Ginny nodded briskly; there was a flash of pain across her face but she did not falter. "I had thought to change the children's surnames to Weasley. Everyone will still know whose children they are, of course, but it would perhaps insulate them from the worst of things. I had also thought of taking them to the continent. Sirius has offered a place in his Italian villa, to which he also will be removing himself." Her tone made it clear that she knew why. "I have not yet decided whether he remains a suitable influence for the children."  
  
I have ruined all their lives, Harry thought, not for the first time. Ginny, James, Albus, Lily – they shall bear the shame of my actions for the rest of their lives. And the others, all the other men like me, I've ruined their lives, too.  
  
Ginny has every right in the world to hate me, he thought. But still she came.  
  
"Fleur's sister Gabrielle has also offered to assist us in obtaining a cottage in France," Ginny went on. "Regardless, I think a move would do them good. They could attend Beauxbatons when they reach the right age, unless of course the situation here is much changed."  
  
"Would you let me see them?" Harry asked, hating himself. "If they don't… If one day I'm free again. Would you?"  
  
Ginny's expression softened again. "Yes, of course, Harry."  
  
"Thank you," he whispered.  
  
"There is," she said hesitantly, "a condition."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Ginny looked him straight in the eye. "You must never, ever see Draco Malfoy again."  
  
Harry thought of how many times over the last year he had told himself that same thing, how many others had said it, how it had seemed so impossible for so long.  
  
"Do you know," he said now, "I think if I ever saw Draco again I would kill him."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Book 3, where things kick up a notch. Coming up we have more filthy sex acts, unsafe in more ways than one. Bear in mind that as the summary says, "Sodomy is a hanging offence": the 1850s were not a good time to be homosexual and this isn't a fluffy AU where real world laws or attitudes are ignored. Triggers for homophobia and violence in every chapter.
> 
> Still with me? Here we go.

**Book three**   
  
  
_Some love too little, some too long,  
Some sell, and others buy;  
Some do the deed with many tears,  
And some without a sigh  
-Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol_

**Spring, 1852**  
  
"You seem happy today, Harry," Ginny remarked on the last Sunday in May. "You seem calmer than you have in a long time."  
  
"I would not have you think that I have not enjoyed this time," Harry said at once. "The Whitsun recess could even become my favourite time of year. But…"  
  
"You are anxious to return to town," Ginny acknowledged. "I never thought you would become so involved in politics."  
  
"Nor I," Harry said with a laugh. "Though in turn I am rather surprised that Hermione is not more involved."  
  
"It is hard for her, with her daughter so young," Ginny said. "And I think, if you will pardon the indelicacy, that there may shortly be another."  
  
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Did she say something of the kind to you?"  
  
"No, indeed," Ginny said, smiling. "But she asked for salted fish and olives. That was what she ate when she was expecting Rose."  
  
"Well," Harry said. "Good for them. Ron wants a big family, I think."  
  
Ginny looked down at her hands. "Three suits me well," she said. "Three is perfect."  
  
Given the compromises made in their marriage, three is all there would ever be. Harry reached out and squeezed her hand gently.  
  
The guilt still clawed at him but Ginny was right in that Harry was at peace with himself for the first time he could remember, perhaps the first time ever. The balance had been struck: politics and town and Draco when the Wizengamot was sitting, country and children and Ginny during the six recesses each year.  
  
He saw now how much sense this new knowledge made of his feelings of isolation and detachment, why his marriage had not truly fulfilled him, why certain of his reactions had mystified him. He understood now that Draco had not made him a sodomite. It had been in him all along. He was an invert, a nonce, and he couldn't even hate himself for it because admitting it was like breathing after being held underwater for agonising hours. His lungs were filled with air at last and he loved Draco and he loved Ginny: somehow this impossible life seemed to be working and he would see Draco tomorrow.  
  
"What would you like to do this evening?" Harry said, trying to make up for his departure. "Anything at all."  
  
Ginny sighed and thought for a moment. Then, "Can we go to the Quidditch match at Holyhead? I think the Harpies are playing the Prides, if I remember my fixtures."  
  
It was so far from what he had expected her to say that Harry almost started. "What a marvellous idea!" he said. Ginny listened to the matches on the wizarding wireless but they had not been to a game together in years. Perhaps this was a sign that she felt better able to ask him for what she needed now. Perhaps they could both be themselves. "I will see if there will be space in the box tonight."  
  
Ginny smiled and Harry remembered wishing to move mountains for that smile. In this he was more than happy to oblige her.  
  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
  
In retrospect Harry should perhaps have anticipated that he would not be the only member of the Wizengamot using the Minister's box that night.  
  
Indeed, he had rather expected to see a colleague or two, but not Lucius, Lord Malfoy.  
  
Ginny had noticed him first, as the players assembled for the match. It was a popular sport across all classes and the crowds for this league match were impressive, yet Harry had managed to obtain permission to be present at the last moment.  
  
Of course, there would have to be a catch.  
  
Harry and Ginny had barely taken their assigned seats before Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy arrived, wearing robes much finer than the occasion warranted. Lucius was dressed entirely in black, as was his wont; Narcissa entirely in ice-white. Harry wondered for a moment if that was why Draco insisted on bright rainbow colours before he found himself nose to nose with the father of his lover.  
  
"Lord Potter," Lucius said, his voice curling around the words with just a hint of sneer.  
  
"Lord Malfoy," Harry returned. He had always felt wrong-footed by this man, always. He turned instead to Narcissa. "Lady Malfoy."  
  
"Lord Potter, Lady Ginevra," Narcissa said. Her tone was not quite as snide as her husband's but there was definitely the disdain of a Pureblood looking down on the blood traitors and half-bloods in her midst. Harry wondered just how furious she must be that he would inherit her family title.  
  
"Will you be returning to town for Recall?" Lord Malfoy asked Harry with every air of solicitude.  
  
Harry had rather hoped to stand, bow, and have that be the end of the encounter but Lord Malfoy had other plans it seemed. "Yes, indeed," Harry said, quite at a loss as how best to handle this. "And yourself as well, I presume?"  
  
"Quite," Lucius said with a dead-eyed smile. "I hope to see you in committee."  
  
"I find that hard to believe," Ginny said with a touch of asperity. "I understand from my husband that you and he are in quite different opinion on a number of important matters."  
  
"And yet," Lucius replied with a curled lip, "it is always a pleasure to debate with such a _passionate_ man as your husband."  
  
There was something in the way he said that which compelled Harry to look at him hard. He could see nothing in Lucius's face but a sort of blandly amused blankness. The mask was hard to penetrate.  
  
"Lady Potter, it is so nice to have an evening out, is it not?" Narcissa Malfoy was saying. She was always more outwardly polite than her husband but there tended to be a sting. "When the children are small I know some mothers find it hard to leave them at home, unfashionable though it may be to admit it."  
  
A delightfully constructed barb, Harry thought. Insult hiding in praise.  
  
Ginny opened her mouth to say something but Lucius got there first. "I believe you are acquainted with my son, Draco."  
  
The mask had not dropped a fraction. Harry had never been good at maintaining a blank expression but he endeavoured to do so now. "Indeed, we met at the Boneses, I believe – I remember because it was around the time our daughter came."  
  
Not a flicker. "He is in town at the moment," Lucius said. "I will see him when I arrive there, assuming he can be roused from his dissolute pursuits."  
  
Ginny inhaled sharply at Harry's right. Harry, for his part, stood dumbstruck. This was an exceptionally familiar way to speak with him, implying an intimacy where none existed. Harry's eyes darted around Lucius's face tying to work him out.  
  
"You think I speak out of turn, Lady Potter?" Lucius said though his eyes didn't move from Harry's face. "I am sorry to say my son is well on the way to becoming outright notorious."  
  
Narcissa was now scowling at her husband. "Lucius, please," she said, forcing a laugh which Harry was sure she had intended it sound like a trilling bell rather than the sound she produced: sharp, with the edges of a serrated blade. "What must the Potters be thinking of us?"  
  
"I wonder indeed," Lucius said, eyes boring into Harry's and then all at once he was benign and amused again. "My apologies, my dear, you are perfectly right. Let us not dwell on such things. Lord Potter, I will see you at the Wizengamot." And with a small bow that was in truth the merest nod, Lord Malfoy took his wife's hand and led her to a seat. Mercifully it was on the other side of the box.  
  
Ginny looked at Harry with wild eyes. "Harry, have you been spending time with Lord Malfoy's son?"  
  
"A little," Harry saw no harm in confessing. "He has a reputation, to be sure, but I find him to be a very useful person to discuss upcoming policy with as he can always think of the criticisms which will be levied at the bill."  
  
"For his own father to call him dissolute! Has he been disinherited?"  
  
No, though it had been threatened several times. "I do not see how Lord Malfoy could disinherit his only son."  
  
Ginny spared the Malfoys another glance. "It would be no small thing to stand up to that man," Ginny said.  
  
"You could do it," said Harry, without a doubt.  
  
"Of course," said Ginny. "As could you. But I imagine he'd find a way to punish us for it." She looked at the monochromatic pair another moment before she shook her head. "And you are fighting the legislation he wishes to pass?"  
  
"Someone has to," Harry said, certain of that.  
  
Ginny brushed the back of Harry's hand with her fingers. "I am glad it is you, sweetheart," she said.  
  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
  
After watching the Pride of Portree positively smash the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny was disappointed by her team's loss but excited to have been to her first match in several years. Harry had shaken off most of the unease of Lucius' words and was now listening to his wife recount some of the highlights of the match as though he hadn't been there.  
  
It was nice. They used to do this all through the League season, he remembered. Ginny had wanted to play for the Harpies even though her mother told her it was unladylike. Ginny had never worried overmuch about that kind of thing and Harry had encouraged her to try out, had shared her disappointment when she was not selected. The team had invited her to return the following year but by then she and Harry were married and Harry had wanted to start a family.  
  
For the first time, the uncomfortable thought struck Harry that perhaps he was more responsible for the changes in his wife than he had realised.  
  
"And did you see that Starfish and Stick!" Ginny was saying. "Hopkirk was in such an amazing position, perfectly balanced in the air…"  
  
"Do you ever wish," Harry said suddenly, "that you'd tried for the Harpies again?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"When we were first married," Harry said. "I know… I knew it was something you wanted."  
  
Ginny had been gesturing in her excitement; she pulled her hands back into her lap, staring at Harry. "I haven't thought of for some time," she said, picking at the cloth of her skirt. "There were so many other things to consider."  
  
"You were so excited tonight," said Harry quietly. "It was wonderful."  
  
Ginny smiled. "I was, was I not?"  
  
"Perhaps you should attend more matches. Leave the children with Morag more often."  
  
"Perhaps," she said softly.  
  
Harry saw the thought land and slowly sink in. "Well," he said, motioning to rise. "I think I should retire for the evening."  
  
"Oh," said Ginny.  
  
Harry smiled vaguely and crossed the room to kiss her goodnight, on the forehead as had become a custom.  
  
Tonight, though, Ginny turned her face up, meeting his mouth with hers. For a moment their lips pressed together, her mouth soft. Harry touched her face lightly and kissed her again before stepping back. "Goodnight," he said quietly. "I will leave for London after breakfast tomorrow."  
  
Harry turned to leave the room but stopped when Ginny called, "Harry?"  
  
He turned back. Ginny was staring at a fixed point on the floor. "Will you not come to me this night before you go?" she asked. Her face seemed strained as though she hated herself for asking.  
  
That was not something he had anticipated; perhaps he should have. "I am very tired, Ginny," he said, knowing that was no kind of answer but what else could he say? He loved Ginny, of course, always, but he had no desire for her. And even if he had felt anything such, he would never be able to look Draco in the face and lie about something like this: he would know.  
  
She bit her lip. "It has been so long."  
  
"I know," Harry said. "I know, but… it is still too soon, I think."  
  
"I am healthy," she said. "You need not fear."  
  
"Of course," Harry said quickly. "Of course you are." He hated himself for it but said it anyway: "Let me fear losing you a while longer." He kissed her as he had intended to the first time, gently on the forehead. Ginny looked up at him again and then swiftly away.  
  
"Goodnight, husband," was all she said.  
  
Harry closed the door softly behind him.  
  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Harry might have felt worse about Ginny's disappointment had he not been anxious to return to town and to Draco.  
  
After a hearty breakfast of kippers and bread, Harry kissed Ginny goodbye and Flooed back to Grimmauld Place.  
  
"Master Potter!" Harry was met with at once.  
  
"Kreacher." He looked past him into the corridor. "Are you here alone?"  
  
Kreacher bowed. "Yes, Master Potter, Master Black has gone away for several days and taken Dobby with him. Always he is favouring Dobby though Kreacher has served the family longer, it is shameful…"  
  
Harry slid his thumb and forefinger beneath the bridge of his spectacles and rubbed his face where they pinched him. "Kreacher, please do not mutter like that. You know it upsets us."  
  
Kreacher bowed again; like the muttering it was a habit they had never quite managed to break him of. "Yes, Master Potter."  
  
"Thank you. Now, did Sirius leave any word?"  
  
"Yes, Master Potter, he left a letter in the study in case you arrived before him. He was not sure what day you would be coming."  
  
"Thank you; I will go there. Please bring in some tea."  
  
Kreacher bowed again; Harry didn't stay to watch him.  
  
Harry found the letter on the desk and read it quickly: Sirius apologised but had been dragged away to go hunting by a head of department. _If I didn't need the damnable man's assistance,_ he wrote, _I would most certainly not be doing anything of the kind. But for now here I am, rather than able to spend time with my favourite godson. I will attempt to restrain myself from letting Padfoot join the hounds in lieu of laughing at my good host's jokes._  
  
Harry grinned at the character of the letter. He had looked forward to seeing Sirius, of course, but it did rather leave him at a loose end as he had anticipated spending that evening with his godfather. The hotel suite was not booked until the following night.  
  
But then, there was no one in the house…  
  
Harry could barely contain himself as he wrote a letter, impersonal as one might direct to any acquaintance, advising Draco of his return to London and inviting him to dine that night at Grimmauld Place, as Sirius was away and Harry would want for company. It had been too long and though Hedwig hooted somewhat reproachfully at him, Harry sent her off to deliver the message.  
  
"Kreacher," Harry said and the house elf appeared at once. "I believe we will have a guest for dinner."  
  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Draco arrived promptly, a rare occurrence indeed. He smirked at Kreacher and moved to kiss Harry the moment he saw him, uncaring of the servant's eyes.  
  
Harry pulled away. "Draco," he said on a huffed laugh, a pleading sound. "Shall we not dine?"  
  
"Ah, is that what brings you back to the city so promptly. Your elf's cooking?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Very well, elf, lead on. This must surely be something to taste!"  
  
"Draco…" Harry groaned, but he had brought it on himself.  
  
He knew, of course, what the next hour or so would entail and he was right. Draco drank from his wine goblet and licked his lips after every single sip. He leaned this way and that, revealing strips of skin, and emphasised every word that could possibly be regarded as an innuendo.  
  
"It must be hard," he said, taking a precise bite of the pigeon pie then reaching for his wine. "To divide your time so. But of course the thrust of politics waits for no man." And then the bastard _smiled._  
  
Harry placed his knife and fork neatly back down and touched his cloth napkin to the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Kreacher," he said without looking around. "That's all for this evening."  
  
Kreacher turned in confusion. "Master, will you not require..."  
  
"We can pour our own brandies, thank you," Harry said firmly. "You may clear the table in the morning."  
  
Kreacher scowled. "Yes Master," he said before turning to mutter to himself all the way out of the room.  
  
The moment he was gone, Draco threw back his head and laughed. "Potter, that was an absolute scream. Did you see—"  
  
But Harry was beyond caring about anything except the fact that he had been unable to see Draco for two weeks and was now mere feet away from him. With an abrupt lurch, Harry pulled Draco out of his chair and against him, his tongue finding entry to Draco's mouth as though no time had passed at all between the kiss goodbye all those weeks ago and this moment here and now. He was touching Draco and at peace again. Draco's bright smile curved against him, but Harry was not in the mood to be teased. He pushed Draco back, stood up out his chair and kissed him again, more fiercely this time, demanding and hungry.  
  
Draco gasped as Harry's hands went to divest him of his clothes, pulling away frock coat, waistcoat, cravat, shirt, _damn_ all these clothes for daring to come between his skin and Draco's. He raised his hands to place his fingers in the hollow of Draco's collarbones, marvelling that they had not changed at all, that they still entranced him beyond all reason. Harry wanted to spend hours kissing his way along them but the need was too strong. Reason had deserted him completely.  
  
Mindlessly, Harry pushed Draco back onto the dining table. Draco laughed a little. "We'll make something of you yet, Potter!" he said before Harry's teeth closed on his shoulder and he elicited a deep, throaty moan.  
  
"I want you," Harry gasped as he mouthed his way down Draco's body. "I've wanted you and wanted you and you weren't there."  
  
"Whose fault is that?" Draco snapped back at him. "I've been right here and you've been off… Oh, Potter, do that again."  
  
 _That_ had been Harry mouthing Draco's cock through his trousers. He ignored Draco's demand in favour of unbuttoning them to gain surer access. Draco had raised himself up on his elbows to monitor the progress, and cracked his head on the table flopping back down with a moan when Harry finally got the clothes out of the way and placed his mouth on his lover's cock.  
  
Broken, desperate sounds were pouring from Draco's throat. Normally, Harry loved doing this, but just then it wasn't enough. He tore his mouth away.  
  
"Potter, what-?" Draco said in outrage. But Harry wasn't stopping, he was merely stripping Draco's lower half more completely. When at last he was naked for Harry's eyes, it took everything he had not to climb up onto the table with him.  
  
Harry instead nudged Draco over, turning him on his stomach. Draco looked at first as though he might make some kind of protest but Harry ignored him, grasping his thigh to move it so that he could run his tongue up Draco's leg and up to his buttocks.  
  
"Potter," Draco gasped. "Potter, oh, Acheron and Lethe, what are you…?"  
  
Harry rolled him over more fully, pulling at Draco's buttocks with his hands until he was open for Harry to view. There it was, pink and perfect and beautiful as Draco's mouth, and Harry couldn't resist lowering his mouth to taste it.  
  
Draco made some terrible incoherent sound as Harry ran his tongue along the rim of his hole. Fingers scrabbled at the table edge when Harry did it again, licking and tasting that most secret part of his lover. His beloved. He could think it now, even though he said it but rarely; saying the words felt too much like putting his soul into Draco's keeping, more even than when the two were connected in the most intimate of joinings.  
  
Harry sighed and even his breath made Draco gasp and writhe. Harry licked at Draco delicately, like a cat, a series of tiny delicate licks from the centre and out, his hands moving over Draco's thighs, his buttocks, over his sides. The air was heavy with choking moans and the salt scent of arousal as Harry flicked his tongue again and again, finally driving deeper, into Draco's body. He pulled away to replace his tongue with his fingers. Draco was so needy, pushing back against Harry, opening his legs wider.  
  
"Fuck me," Draco forced out, sounding as though he were dying. Such coarse language shocked Harry, but not to disgust. Rather, he thought it the most arousing thing Draco could possibly have said.  
  
"Fuck me!" Draco said again, begging this time, no longer demanding but reduced to pleading with his lover to take him, make him his once again.  
  
Groaning, Harry freed his own cock at last and pulled Draco's hips back to meet his. What a sight they must make, Draco naked with his clothes discarded on the table and chairs, Harry fully clothed with only his cock free, slowly sinking deep into that beautiful body.  
  
Harry watched Draco curl his hands around the table's edge just before he gave in to the instinct overwhelming him and snapped his hips, pulling back and bucking forward with barely a thought. Draco's whine urged him to do it again, and again, to fuck him furiously as Draco clutched and cursed and grunted. Harry watched all the muscles of Draco's back move under his skin. He wanted to reach forward, sink his teeth into that shoulder blade, but he was too far gone to change the angle, to risk any movement more than the inward-outward thrust of his cock into Draco's greedy hole.  
  
At one particularly brutal thrust, Draco's arm shot forward, knocking over a candlestick on the table. Mercifully the candle went out; Harry doubted he could have stopped even if the whole world burned about them. Draco was keening now, so close, just from this – Harry had not touched his cock at all since turning him over. Harry wondered if he was hurting Draco. He wondered if Draco had been fucked by other men since Harry had been gone, and the thought set his teeth on edge.  
  
"Tell me you're mine," Harry heard himself demand in a voice he barely recognised.  
  
Draco gulped and gasped, too deep under pleasure's spell to make any kind of reply.  
  
"Tell me!" Harry snapped, that strained voice coming once again.  
  
Draco's gasps started to come out more like a word. Harry redoubled his efforts, thrusting higher now, hitting that perfect place inside of Draco with every motion.  
  
Draco gave a sound like a scream before finally, "Yours!" burst out of his throat. "Yours, yes, I'm yours, yes, please, _take me_ ," and with that Harry surrendered, pitching forward to grasp the hair at the back of Draco's neck tight as he came, hot and furious, deep inside Draco's body.  
  
When Harry came back to himself, it was to find himself half on top of Draco, half slumped against the edge of the dining table, which was now covered with Draco's semen. His breath still filled his ears, harsh; his heart still pounded.  
  
Draco was panting, too, slippery with sweat cooling on his skin. "Damn you, Potter, that hurt."  
  
Harry would once have apologised. Now he tightened his grip on the back of Draco's neck, licked his shoulder blade. "You are mine, Draco," he said simply, "And I took you."  
  
Draco's sudden scrambling forced Harry to lever himself upright. As Draco twisted himself around Harry thought for a moment that he was about to start a fight, but instead Draco wrapped his legs tight around Harry and kissed him so fiercely Harry was certain he felt his heart squeeze in his chest.  
  
 _I love you_ , Harry thought again as Draco curled his tongue around Harry's own.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those keeping track, this is the last of the previously-posted chapters. It's all new material from here on out!

Sirius returned to town on the Wednesday as he had indicated, by which time Draco was safely ensconced at the hotel suite and the dining table had been the subject of more than one rather intense _Scourgify!_  
  
Sirius had not enjoyed the hunting trip one bit.  
  
"What the devil were you even hunting in May?" Harry wondered once Sirius had related his companion's numerous annoying habits.  
  
"Graphorns," Sirius said bitterly. "Bagman wanted the hide for a coat and thought he could make some money selling other parts of the beast off for potion supplies."  
  
"And did you kill any?"  
  
Sirius snorted. "You know how tough those things' hides are. Spells simply bounced off it; it was lucky neither of us was hit by a ricochet and killed!"  
  
Harry smothered a chuckle but he couldn't quite keep his eyes from dancing and Sirius looked at him in exasperation until he finally gave in to the laughter.  
  
"It's good to see you," Sirius admitted. "Will you return to your own apartments at once or will you visit with me a while?"  
  
"If you like," said Harry, "but only a few days. I prefer to be back in my own space before committees resume."  
  
"Naturally," Sirius said. "With the Whitsun recess over it'll be six relentless weeks of debating and defending, and a man needs to recover from that kind of thing in his own way."  
  
"For you, brandy and cigars?"  
  
"Indeed, and both quite to excess I assure you! Well, at least it will be summer soon."  
  
"You will visit Remus as usual?" Harry asked, noting the way Sirius' features relaxed at the mention of Remus' name.  
  
"Indeed, yes," Sirius said. "I should write to him to finalise the details." He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "But not this evening. This evening, I think you and I should attend the opera!"  
  
Harry sighed. "I'll get my cloak."  
  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
"You are not looking your best, Potter," Draco said smartly when Harry emerged from the fireplace of their shared suite.  
  
"I've been Siriused," Harry moaned, sliding down on to the chaise longue and resting his head on Draco's lap. "He has been overindulging himself and insists that I join him."  
  
"That explains why you reek of cigars and why you seem so tired. Did he not offer you any Pepper-Up potion?"  
  
"No," Harry said, still whining.  
  
Draco tilted his head to consider. "Now should I get some for you, or should I watch you suffer? It's difficult to know which will amuse me more, your gratitude or your misery."  
  
"I hate you," Harry said, muffled.  
  
"Not precisely an incentive," Draco said and Harry could hear the smirk.  
  
"If I feel better I might have the energy to suck you off," Harry said, knowing bribery was the best way forward.  
  
"I'll get the potion," Draco said at once.  
  
After Harry drank it and made good on his promise, the two lay tangled together in their bed.  
  
"Harry," Draco said, oddly uncertain.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"It is my birthday in a few days."  
  
"Yes, on the fifth," Harry said, yawning. "I'd not forgotten."  
  
"Will you come to the Manor for tea that day?"  
  
Harry stilled. "As in, to have tea with your parents?"  
  
"Yes," Draco said quietly.  
  
Harry turned to meet Draco's gaze. There was an expression in his eyes that Harry was unaccustomed to seeing – something quite unlike the brash confidence Draco wore like armour or the softness Harry could find in him sometimes when their passion ebbed and they lay together like this.  
  
"Would that not seem strange? If it were to be only us four?"  
  
Draco shrugged but the carelessness seemed forced. "You are my intimate friend."  
  
"Yes," Harry said. "Yes, and I think your father knows it. He says things to me that he should not."  
  
"Perhaps he does know," said Draco.  
  
"What?"  
  
Draco shifted. "He has always known about me. I made a point of telling him when I was younger. A kind of rebellion, I suppose."

"So he'll think…"  
  
"Harry, don't panic," Draco said, soothing him with a touch. "He may know, he may not, but either way I would like you to sit with them, talk with them."  
  
Harry felt his stomach twist. This was almost exactly the quarrel they had had over the Yule Ball months before. Harry didn't want to repeat the argument but the thought of spending time with Draco's parents, even if the subject of their relationship was never so much as referenced, was deeply unsettling.  
  
Draco was watching Harry's face keenly.  
  
"Will he not take my presence as an affront if he should suspect?" said Harry.  
  
"He always wanted you and I to become friends," said Draco.  
  
Harry frowned as another thought struck him. "Is that why—"  
  
"No," Draco said. "But… It might be nice to make him proud for a change."  
  
"You make me proud sometimes," Harry said because he wanted to change the subject and because it was true. When Draco let him in, for example. When he truly shared something of himself.  
  
"Did you miss me a great deal when you were away?"  
  
"Every moment. And you?"  
  
"Every moment," Draco echoed with a sardonic smile which didn't quite hide the fact that he meant it. "I was so bored. And Nott kept trying to get me to go on the most asinine outings. 'Malfoy, there's a new play at the Royalty. Malfoy, there's a _rouge et noir_ table at the Bonnets. Malfoy, there's a brothel which specialises in caning.'"  
  
"Caning?" Harry repeated.  
  
"Indeed," Draco said. "We had quite enough of that at school, I said to him. Perhaps it was not the same outside of Slytherin."  
  
"Perhaps," Harry said.  
  
Sensing the shift in mood, Draco said, "Yes?"  
  
"I know you used to frequent brothels," Harry said softly, "of course I know that. but do you still?"  
  
Draco winced a little. He didn't seem to know where to look. "Not- not frequent, per se," he said at last.  
  
"But you still fuck other boys," Harry said sharply.  
  
"You are gone for long stretches of time," Draco replied smartly, "and married besides. Do you think if I were suddenly afflicted with the green sickness of celibacy it would raise no comment?"  
  
It stung, particularly after Harry's own determination to remain faithful to Draco despite everything. But this was nothing he had not known or could not have surmised. He reached out to stroke Draco's arm. "Are you not happy?"  
  
"When you're with me," said Draco, tone still sharp. "And when I know you're coming back soon. Not when you're about to leave, or when you've been gone for weeks with barely a word."  
  
"I try…" Harry began, but Draco wasn't listening.  
  
"You blame me still I think," Draco said. "For disrupting your marriage. For turning you into a mandrake, as though it was not something within you." Draco's face was pinched, unhappy, the way it always was when he displayed something he was uncomfortable with the world seeing. "You love me, yes, but would you have chosen to?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said at once. "Absolutely yes."  
  
"Really?" Draco's mouth twisted into something nastier. "You enjoy that you are become a dark cully?"  
  
Harry touched Draco's face, stroked his thumb over the sharp cheekbone. "I can never love you publicly," he said. "But I would not have it undone."  
  
Draco leaned into Harry's touch. "At school," he said, "at school there were two boys caught being together. They were like us."  
  
Harry stilled. "What happened to them?"  
  
"Expulsion," Draco said grimly. "I was a friend to one of them. He had shown me things. He showed me how to stroke myself. He died not long after. I think it was his intention."  
  
Harry swallowed hard. "He killed himself?"  
  
"Oh, they hushed it all up," Draco snapped, "said he froze to death. But he was a wizard. All it would have taken to save him was a warming charm!" He was trembling now. Harry held him tighter.  
  
"The secrecy is hard on you," Harry realised. Perhaps harder even than it was on Harry. It was so far removed from what he had believed that he didn't quite know what to do.  
  
Draco acknowledged it with a forced shrug of his shoulders. "You come and go and I try not to grudge it," he said. "I know that for you it is me, only me. But it is a lonely life nonetheless, living a lie. Blaise knows about you though he never voices it. He is the only one but if I were to speak to him of love he simply would not understand. Who else is there? Nott I could not trust. I have to lie to all others I know about the very nature of who I am. I have long lunches with a Pureblood girl whom my mother dreams I will wed. I smile and flatter and lead her to believe I may love her when the truth is that her body repels me."  
  
"I am sorry," said Harry, willing Draco to believe him.  
  
"Perhaps you should be. I have come to care where I did not care before and that amplifies the pain as well as the pleasure."  
  
"Would you have chosen to love me?" Harry asked, holding his breath slightly. Draco had never actually said the words.  
  
He remained quiet a long time. Then, "I don't know."  
  
It hurt, more than Harry had expected.  
  
Draco shied away from the topic at once. "It does not signify. Keeping up appearances is the condition of survival in this world, at this time. So I go to lunch with ladies and then I have beautiful boys suck my lobcock. And someday I will throw the lie they make me live in all their teeth."  
  
Harry chewed his lower lip. "You think that day will come?"  
  
"It must," Draco said simply. "Until then I ask you please, will you make the effort with my father?"  
  
Harry did not want to, Lord how he did not want to. He thought of his own father and how he'd done everything he could to make him proud even though he was gone. He thought of Lucius Malfoy striking his son with his cane and calling him a disappointment to his face.  
  
With that in his thoughts and Draco in his arms it was impossible to say anything other than, "I will, if you ask it. But Draco, are you sure this is a good idea?"  
  
"Yes," Draco said, resolute. "I am."  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Tea at Malfoy Manor was not precisely the kind of event Harry would have attended of his own free will. Draco had dressed in black, which was as sure a sign of tension as the pinched shape of his lips. Harry was far from relaxed himself: this was an incredibly risky move on his part he knew, but if there was the slightest chance it would help Draco then he had to do it, pure and simple.  
  
A veritable army of house elves had answered the doors, their feet pitter-patting on the black Italian marble. They took their cloaks and showed the two men to the drawing room.  
  
Harry had seen glorious houses before, but Malfoy Manor was something quite apart from his experience. The entrance way was all marble, but the hall they walked through was sumptuously decorated with portraits of Malfoys from as far back as the time of William the Conqueror glaring down on them.  
  
"All your ancestors?" Harry asked.  
  
"Who did you expect, boy?" one of the portraits snarled; Harry kept his mouth shut after that.  
  
"The Master and Mistress will be here very shortly, sirs," one squeaked as it backed out of the room, bowing with every step.  
  
Harry winced slightly; he couldn't imagine that life as a Malfoy servant was particularly pleasant. As he stepped into the room, his feet sank into deep oriental carpet. Above hung a pink glass chandelier, almost certainly imported from Italy.  
  
It was terribly gauche of him, he knew, to think of how much these kinds of luxuries would cost, but it brought home to him again the wealth and power of the Malfoy family. His trepidation increased tenfold.  
  
"Draco," Harry hissed as the house elf closed the door behind itself.  
  
"There is no need to worry," Draco said, face white. He sat down abruptly as though the strength had suddenly left his body.  
  
Harry looked at him in disbelief. "Is it too late…"  
  
Abruptly the doors opened, and it was indeed too late. Lucius Malfoy entered the room in a whirl of black robes and ice blond hair, a house elf miserably chasing after him and pleading to be allowed to announce him.  
  
"It is my home, elf, that is hardly necessary," Lucius snapped. He took in the scene before him: Harry and Draco sitting next to one another at a small round table, Harry tracing the lines of the marquetry with his fingers. "I realise I instructed you to befriend Harry Potter, Draco, but you appear to have taken that instruction more to heart than I could have anticipated."  
  
"Yes, Father," was all Draco seemed able to say.  
  
"Happy Birthday," Lucius said as an afterthought.  
  
Harry remembered his manners and rose. "Lord Malfoy."  
  
"Lord Potter," Lucius responded sardonically. "The title still sits a little ill on your shoulders, is it not so?"  
  
Harry was desperate to snap at the man but Draco's face prevented him from doing so. "Perhaps the title Lord Black will fit better," he said as mildly as he could.  
  
Lucius' mouth tightened. "Perhaps."  
  
Mercifully, at that moment Draco's mother arrived. "Lucius, you're not torturing the poor boy who has come to celebrate with us, are you?"  
  
Lady Malfoy was rather lovely when she stopped scowling, and to see her now, it was easy to forget that she had ever been other than perfectly cordial. She smiled at him and kissed Draco's cheek until some of the tension bled out of him.  
  
"Mother," he said, relieved.  
  
"And Lord Potter," she said, offering him her hand to shake. "I recall we became acquainted in Scotland. What a pleasure to see you again."  
  
"Thank you, Lady Malfoy." Was it teasing or kind to pretend they had not seen each other at Quidditch? Harry could not say.  
  
"Please, you must call me Narcissa," she said, waving her hand, quite a different woman to the coldly formal creature he had met before. He darted a glance towards Draco, but there was no help from that quarter. Just then, though, the lady's husband shot her a look; Harry watched Lady Malfoy see it, frown, and choose to ignore it.  
  
At once, Harry realised what was going on. "Then of course you must call me Harry," he said and she beamed at him. "It was most kind of you both to include me in a family occasion such as this one."  
  
Draco shot him a grateful look then even as his father rolled his eyes.  
  
"Shall we sit, then?" Narcissa said.  
  
As they took their seats, the house elves arrived with the tea service.  
  
"Do you enjoy Darjeeling, Lord Potter?" Lucius said as he sat down, indicating to the house elf that the tea should be poured.  
  
"Quite," said Harry.  
  
"Of course you do. It is not the most exotic blend we have available here but I would be no kind of host if I could not make my guests comfortable." The final word dripped with disdain.  
  
"I thank you for your consideration," Harry said, still trying to hold on to neutrality towards the man. Merlin, this was going to be worse even than he had feared. He took a sip of tea to steel himself.  
  
"Harry does have some very sophisticated tastes, Father," Draco chimed in.  
  
Harry looked at him, incredulous. Draco was forever berating him for his bourgeois taste in everything from furnishings to robes.  
  
Lucius looked at his son for a long moment even as Narcissa said, "Tea is a matter of preference, my dear. Exotic blends are all very well but provided the leaves are of a high quality, one may choose a different flavour on any given day."  
  
"That is just what I think," Draco said quickly.  
  
"I know that you enjoy the popular entertainments yourself, Lord Malfoy," Harry said, desperate to ease the tension somehow. "After all, who from the highest lord in the land to the meanest servant does not regard Quidditch as the finest sport ever devised?"  
  
"Oh, yes," said Lucius, a thin smile appearing on his lips. "I saw you at Portree with your lovely wife but a week ago. And how does she fare?"  
  
Draco had been slowly relaxing into his chair but all at once the tension leapt back into his frame. "She is well, thank you my lord," Harry said.  
  
"Charming lady," Narcissa said.  
  
Lucius paid her no attention. "And your children? You have three, I believe?"  
  
"Two sons and a daughter," Harry acknowledged.  
  
"Marvellous," Lucius said. "It was the greatest regret of my life that Narcissa and I were able only to have the one child."  
  
Narcissa frowned. "This topic is most indelicate, Lucius dear."  
  
Lucius frowned but it seemed as though he would accept the gentle rebuke, until Draco muttered, "It would make it so much easier to disinherit me if you'd had that spare."  
  
Harry wondered if that would send Lucius into a rage but he barely acknowledged that his son had spoken, saying only, "Draco, please," as though he had merely spilled tea. "Children are so important," he went on, addressing Harry. "They carry on our traditions. Will yours be taught the traditional pureblood values?"  
  
"If you mean the kind of viewpoint you espouse in committee, then I would think you would already know the answer to that," Harry said as calmly as he could. "Besides, what was it you said? Something about one drop of Muggle blood?"  
  
"Does not always make a Muggle," Lucius said smoothly. "Somewhat to my own regret. But in a sense we have no one to blame for the rise of the half-bloods but ourselves, or at the very least their ancestors. If they would insist on mating with Muggles, what should we have expected but bastard half-base children who would do nothing but pollute our world."  
  
Harry very carefully put down his cup. "You insult my lineage and my family, Lord Malfoy."  
  
"Not at all – you yourself might be regarded as a pureblood," Lucius said. "Your children, certainly so. There is little enough to find fault with there. No, indeed, I meant rather to draw quite a different parallel."  
  
"Please forgive my husband, Harry," Narcissa interjected, something like alarm on her face. "He is just concerned that our son has yet to marry."  
  
"Ah," Harry said. There seemed to be little he could say to that.  
  
"It is important to carry on the family line," Lucius said firmly. "A man in your position understands that, Harry. After all," he said with a small smirk, "you will inherit not only from your own family but from my wife's as well."  
  
"It is such a shame that Sirius never married," Narcissa said. "Not that there is anything wrong with your inheriting the title, Harry, of course not. But he has always been a lonely sort of person."  
  
"In some ways," Harry acknowledged. "He was as you know very close with my parents before they passed away."  
  
"And there's still his friend, Lupin," said Lucius, his eyes boring into Harry's. A sense of terrible trepidation shot through him; something in Lucius' face warned of danger.  
  
"Remus has always been very kind," Harry agreed. "To Sirius and I both. But Teddy is his priority, naturally."  
  
At that, all three Malfoys looked uncomfortable.  
  
"His son," Harry said by way of explanation, though Draco certainly knew that even if the others did not.  
  
No one spoke for a while until Narcissa shifted in her chair and offered, "At one time, Draco was taking an interest in that young man, is it not so?"  
  
"Yes, mother," said Draco tightly. "But he had already decided on a path for the future and did not require my help."  
  
"And Teddy must be such a consolation to Lupin," Lucius said. "Children always are."  
  
"Sirius devoted his life to other things," Harry said, compelled to defend his godfather.  
  
"But becoming a parent is an amazing adventure, is it not?" said Lucius with a shark's smile.  
  
Harry knew it had to be a trap, designed to make Draco uncomfortable. However, he could only agree. "I love James and Albus and Lily very dearly. I could not imagine my life if I had not become a parent."  
  
"Quite right," Lucius said, nodding.  
  
"Absolutely," Narcissa said. "Children are so important to one's happiness. Which is why we're so pleased to celebrate your birthday, Draco dearest."  
  
Draco did not speak.  
  
  


~o0o~

  
  
  
Draco continued not to speak for the rest of the day. After they returned to their shared suite, he went to lie down and simply stayed there. He would not respond when Harry spoke to him, nor was he stirred by offers of food or alcohol.  
  
It was strange; the afternoon had gone much better than Harry could possibly have imagined. Lucius had almost seemed to – well, not approve per se, but to have a grudging respect for Harry by the time the tea was over. Yet Draco had barely forced out a monosyllable. Harry knew the discussion of children had to have been what upset him but this reaction was extreme to say the least.  
  
It was at times like this that Harry most missed being able to go to his friends for counsel. Hermione was the only one who suspected anything about his having an extramarital relationship and she was hardly prepared to advise him. It would be the height of cruelty to ask Ginny or Ron. Sirius… Well, he suspected that Sirius had more experience in that area than he had ever let on, but that didn't mean that Sirius was a viable option either.  
  
All at once Harry felt that loneliness which Draco had described. He didn't know how to help Draco and there was no one he could ask.  
  
The evening drew on and darkness fell. Harry smoked and sighed and caught up on reading the papers which would be considered at committee over the next few days. Eventually, though, he tried again to knock on the door.  
  
"Draco?" he said softly. "Draco, I still haven't given you your birthday present."  
  
There was a long silence. Then at last Draco's voice said, "Come in."  
  
Harry opened the door, expecting to find the room in darkness but Draco had cast a _Lumos_ at some point and the rooms was instead filled with a warm glow.  
  
Draco still lay on the bed but he at least looked at Harry this time.  
  
Harry sat on the edge of the bed. "Would you like your present? It's only small, it's not…"  
  
"I'd like it," Draco said. "Please."  
  
Harry pulled from his waistcoat pocket a small velvet pouch. He had considered what to get for Draco, who had more money than he and liked to joke about his taste. In the end, he had decided on a gift more heartfelt than lavish, and had purchased a love token.  
  
It was a silver sickle smoothed flat on the reverse side with green enamel forming the shape of a leaf. Surrounding it, an engraved statement of purpose.

"I remain steadfast until death," Draco translated. He closed his long fingers around the coin.  
  
"Do you like it?" Harry had to know.  
  
"It's beautiful, Harry," Draco said quietly. "Thank you."  
  
"Does it help? To know that I love you?"  
  
"Yes, of course," Draco said. "It helps. But it doesn't… I'm so angry. Angry and anxious. There's this terrible fury within me."  
  
"They want you to marry," Harry said quietly.  
  
Draco made a terrible sound. "Yes, yes, marry, have children. Have an heir, Draco, it's your duty, Draco. You're such a disappointment, Draco. You're a child."  
  
Harry placed a gentle hand on his shoulder; Draco shook it off. "They'll never be happy until I marry, you know."  
  
"Why didn't you ever?"  
  
Draco looked at him with scorn. "Curtail my freedom? For what! I can barely even get it up for a woman so what would I do with a wife?"  
  
Harry opened his mouth but Draco cut him off, "So help me, Potter, if you extol the virtues of marriage I will not be held responsible for my actions."  
  
Harry said nothing.  
  
"I could have, I suppose," Draco went on, his voice dull. "Perhaps I should have when I was younger. Found someone suitable and done my duty. But I knew it wasn't what I wanted and I saw no reason to bother."  
  
No reason to bother. Because Draco didn't want to hide this: he wanted it to be all right to display it to the world, Harry knew that now.  
  
"I don't know how to help you," he said at length.  
  
"I do," Draco said. "I know you will feel strangely about it. But Potter, I feel my skin will flay itself from my flesh and I know but one way to solve it."  
  
Harry swallowed hard. Somehow he knew exactly what Draco was about to ask, why he was suddenly 'Potter' again. His heart sank. "You want me to get you a renter?"  
  
"More than one," Draco said. "More than one. I want a row of beautiful arses and I want to fuck them all."  
  
Harry didn't want that, didn't want that at all. "Would one be enough," said Harry, bracing himself, "if it were mine?"  
  
Draco moaned low in his throat and looked up at Harry, anguished. "That is what I most desire and you know it. But Harry, I can't, not like this. I would only hurt you."  
  
Harry nodded as his mind whirled. The thought of Draco with another man burned like acid through his body. He wanted to beg Draco not to, with every fibre of his being, but he already knew that Draco did this sometimes, needed this even, when Harry was not there. If it was a simple case of working out his anger, Harry could see how Draco might not want to bring that into the love between them.  
  
"All right," Harry said at last.  
  
"Thank you," Draco said, a long shuddering exhale. "And will you stay with me?"  
  
"While you-" Harry couldn't finish the sentence.  
  
"Please yes," Draco said. "If you are there then I will be loved as I am fucking and that proves I am not as he thinks."  
  
Harry didn't know how to untangle that. He'd known that Draco's relationship with his father was not as Draco would have wished it long before this, but he had never before seen the damage when it was like this, so raw.

But what would it do to him to watch Draco fuck himself into oblivion?  
  
"I don't know if I can," Harry whispered.  
  
Then Draco said the cruellest thing he possibly could have: "I do love you, Harry. But I just… I can't… I have to. Please?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of readers angry with Draco at the end of the last chapter! That's part of why this fic sat for so long. But Harry and I both figured out how to handle it, as you'll see ;)

Harry had longed to hear Draco say that he loved him. He had thought it might come as the two of them lay post-coital. Perhaps in a quiet moment, when Harry gave him a gift or showered him with tenderness. More realistically, he had thought it would come as they made up one of their seemingly endless quarrels. Not like this.

Draco was so broken though. All his fire was out. Harry knew that feeling, knew it well. He sometimes felt as though the war had drained the very best parts of him away leaving only a shell who still felt sporadic violent impulses, tightly controlled, and an urge to do good but whose spirit had never really recovered.

He swallowed hard. Draco had woken him up, showed him who he was meant to be. He could put aside his own feelings and do what Draco needed, couldn’t he? He had, after all, done it for Ginny on innumerable occasions.

“If that is what you need, Draco,” he said, tired and hopeless and not enough, not quite ever enough to be what anyone he loved truly needed from him. “If that is what you want.”

Draco did not speak, but he took Harry’s hand and squeezed his fingers gratefully.

The only place Harry knew of where Draco’s demand could be met was the bawd-house he’d been taken to that first night, so long ago. He didn’t even know where it was, precisely and was reluctant to ask Draco since this was something he had asked Harry to do for him. He had thought for a few minutes before sending out his stag Patronus to find Goyle and instruct him to collect them from the Italian Gardens at Hyde Park. He did not know how much Goyle knew about Draco’s living situation and would rather not run the risk of having anyone from the wizarding world find them out.

Draco declined to change for the occasion – most unlike him, the peacock who had colours for every occasion. This more even than the dead look in his eyes told Harry that he had been truly disturbed by the scene with his father. Harry swallowed his objections to the plan and breathed slowly, reminding himself that he had chosen Draco and chosen to make this sacrifice for him.

The beautiful Tazza Fountain seemed to soothe him a little, but he could still barely speak to Harry, who wished abruptly that he had not brought the two of them out in public so that he could wrap his arms around Draco and tell him that whatever his father said, Draco was perfect exactly the way he was. He wished he could promise Draco a lifetime, coax him into smiles with kisses right here in the evening light.

What would it have been like, Harry wondered for a bright, mad moment, to have been able to marry someone like Draco? Impossible, of course, and it always would be – but what a life they could have built together without society, respectability, propriety getting in the way.

He would never have had his children, though. And he would never wish their lives away. James and Albus were growing up fine, and though he had barely seen Lily he loved her. Thinking of them simultaneously relaxed and pained him. But there was no world in which he could have everything he wanted and Harry knew that beyond doubt.

He glanced at Draco, who was looking at him with a slight frown as if trying to work him out. He might have spoken then, either of them might, but that was the moment when Goyle arrived with the carriage.

Draco barely looked at the boys in that unnerving parlour before flinging out a hand. “Those five.”

Harry swallowed hard.

Filch looked like the cat who got the cream. “Yes sir, of course sir.”

Harry reached into his pocket and blindly passed the man a handful of galleons. “A room, those five and for the love of Merlin, some gin.”

Filch whisked the money away and immediately turned obsequious. “Of course, sir, this way sir, at once, sir.” He bowed and scraped, leading them into a different room from last time. This one held a shabby four poster bed, vaguely reminiscent of the Hogwarts dormitories, a tatty silk couch and a bar by the side.

“Was it Kirke, Bertram, Hastings, Reggie and Locke?”

“If they are who I pointed to,” Draco said flatly. He had already begun to shrug out of his coat.

Something nasty flashed across Filch’s face but he returned to his chorus of “sirs” at once as the boys filed in.

Harry sat himself on the couch. One of the boys – Bertram, perhaps – handed him a sweet-smelling clear liquid which might have been gin or frankly might have been any one of a number of things. Harry smelled it a moment longer to ensure it wasn’t a potion and then took a long sip.

Draco had already pulled the one Harry thought could be Hastings into his arms, pushing back his shirt and encouraging the boy to tug his own.

Having delivered the gin, Bertram knelt at Harry’s feet and gave him what must have been a much-practiced coy look. “What can I do for you tonight, sir?”

“Draco wants to fuck all of you,” Harry said bluntly. “I am but here to watch. You can bring me more gin.”

He had thought this might abash the lad but Bertram only smiled and said, “Right away, sir.”

On the other side of the room, Kirke had stepped forward to help strip Draco of his clothes. The other two lounged artfully on the bed, awaiting their summons.

Harry gripped the arm of the couch tight, shoving his feelings down. When the next tot of gin was handed to him he drank it at once. Draco had been methodically stripped naked now. He kept glancing over at Harry for reassurance, perhaps, or maybe in an attempt to connect. But Harry knew his face was like stone and eventually Draco stopped. He had Hastings on the floor in front of him, cock in mouth, and Kirke behind him, opening him up with his fingers. The sight was nowhere near as arousing as that first time. It was only painful as Kirke kissed Draco’s shoulders and tugged on his own cock until he was ready to slip inside. Harry watched it all from far away, a roaring in his ears growing louder every moment Draco kept his eyes closed and Harry his feelings locked away.

All at once, Harry could no longer bear it. He stood without consciously deciding to do so, brushing Bertram away.

He had reached his limit. He could not watch Draco tup these gal-boys and play the part of the sexual adventurer. Draco was enough, more than enough for him; why was he not enough for Draco?

Kirke was balls-deep inside Draco when Harry flicked his wand. “ _Flipendo.”_ The jinx knocked Kirke away from Draco and smack into the other side of the room. Harry was across the room and hauling Draco into his arms and away from Hastings. A trail of saliva connected the boy’s slack mouth with Draco’s cock and Harry found himself shoving Draco into the wall. His grey eyes were wide, he grunted as his back hit the wall and then Harry was on him, hands possessive. He was almost fully dressed while Draco was naked against the revolting wallpaper and it was the only thing he felt he had control of in this moment. He smashed his lower body against Draco, the others in the room forgotten as he kissed Draco senseless, urging his lover to ride his thigh. He hadn’t known what reaction to expect from Draco, had thought he might rebel but instead he gasped and begged.

“Yes, Harry, yes,” he babbled, becoming less coherent as Harry wrapped his fingers around Draco’s cock and started pumping. He was hard in his own trousers now, of course he was, but this was not about him. This was about proving to Draco once and for all that he might have made Harry his, body and soul, but that it went both ways. Draco belonged to him and Harry was going to claim him.

Draco whimpered and Harry realised he must have said part of that at least out loud. He bit down on Draco’s throat causing him to shout out. The drag of herringbone robes against Draco’s pale skin, the tension and fury of Harry’s desire, all of it culminated in Draco spilling over Harry’s fingers with a cry.

The moment Draco’s cock stopped pulsing, Harry put his hand, still covered in spend, over Draco’s throat. “I will give you what you need. Only me.”

Draco was still trying to catch his breath. His legs wobbled beneath him and Harry took more of his weight.

“Say it!” Harry snapped.

Draco smiled at him. He seemed to be almost in a trance, but quite a different state from the silent, withdrawn creature who had accompanied Harry home from Malfoy Manor. “You, Harry,” he said, and the hint of triumph was back. “You, just like this. You, taking control of your pleasure and mine. Only you.”

Harry smashed their mouth together so violently he almost expected to taste blood. Draco gasped and swiped his tongue along Harry’s. His body was all but shaking.

Harry pulled back. “On your knees,” he ordered. Draco sank down before him at once, awe on his face. Harry switched their places to lean back against the wall and was abruptly reminded of the five mostly-naked renters in the room.

“Get out!” he snapped at them as Draco fumbled with the lacings on his trousers. They all scrambled to obey, even Kirke who was rubbing his head as though the fall might have hurt him. In the moment Harry couldn’t bring himself to care about the dark look the other man sent him, as Draco had found his cock and brought it to his mouth. Harry let his head fall back with a groan and cupped Draco’s cheek in his hand. He could never remember wanting it so badly and Draco met the challenge, lucking and sucking, bobbing his head until Harry’s cock bumped the back of his throat. Harry’s fingers tightened. He brought his other hand to Draco’s head and began to fuck his mouth in earnest. Hot, wet, needy, _perfect._

Harry came right down Draco’s throat with a shout. Draco managed to pull back just as Harry’s legs gave out from under him with the force of his orgasm and he slid down the wall to the floor.

As Harry took a few long, deep breaths to steady himself, Draco curled up around him. He touched Harry’s hair, chest, face as he whispered, “So good, so amazing, Harry, yes.”

At length, Harry’s breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Draco kept petting him, pressing his body close until Harry looked him straight in the face and said, “Never suggest anything like this ever again.”

The words seemed to bring Draco up short. He studied Harry’s face for a moment and whatever he saw there convinced him to nod. “I won’t. Never again.”

~o0O0o~

  
  
It took a few days for Harry to re-emerge from the hotel room after that night. Draco had been needy and desperate and Harry hardly less so. Their touches had taken on a new urgency, their time together binding them ever more inextricably.

One night as Harry slipped his fingers inside a pleading Draco, the thought occurred that this was the most assured he had felt since he had commanded Tom Riddle search his soul for remorse.

It could not last, of course. Nothing ever does.

The Wizengamot was in session, part of the requirement for Harry to remain in town. That, rather unfortunately, did mean he occasionally had to make an appearance. Harry dressed himself carefully while Draco watched and threw in the occasional comment about his tie and his colours.

“Will you be gone all day?” he asked at last.

“Into the afternoon, certainly. The committee reshuffle should be announced today. I expect to be appointed to the Committee for Conjuration based on what Sirius told me, so that should at least be a meaty one.”

“Dull, dull, dull,” Draco countered.

Harry smiled and bent to brush a kiss over Draco’s mussed hair where it hung over his forehead. “And what excitements will your day bring?”

“I am sure I can find a way to amuse myself,” he replied airily. It did not fool Harry, though, who could see the way Draco was twisting the sheets in his fingers.

He sat down and covered Draco’s hand with his own. “Are you anxious about us being apart?” For they had barely parted for moments in days.

“I’m not a child, Potter,” Draco said haughtily in the tone that meant, _yes, yes, never leave me._

Harry sighed. “I do have to go. It would not look good to miss the first day of sessions. But perhaps you could meet me for lunch?”

Draco perked up. “At the Atrium?”

Harry paused. He had not considered meeting so publicly with Draco – but what harm could it do? They were known acquaintances, Harry supposed.

“If you like. But you must…”

“Be discreet, Draco,” the man himself said, sing-song. “Yes, I know, Harry.” His smile though grew and his demeanour calmed.

Harry kissed the tip of his nose gently, then his forehead once again. He was such a fool for this man.

The meeting of the full Wizengamot, at which a number of speeches were made, did indeed strike Harry as every bit as dull as Draco had predicted, though Harry was pleased to see many of his acquaintance again. The morning passed quickly and included few surprises other than Harry’s appointment to the Committee for Muggle Relations. It was not a post he had sought but one he looked forward to; it concerned communication with the Muggle Prime Minister amongst other important tasks. Harry knew he would have to speak to Hermione about her concerns as she was in a position to discuss her experiences and to highlight areas of concern. Assuming, of course, that she was ready to talk with him again.

Harry brooded on that a little as he made his way to the Atrium. One end was devoted to fireplaces for those travelling into and out of the Ministry. At the other, beyond the ever-unnerving Fountain of Magical Brethren, was a dining hall which Harry had visited before, but not often. The space appeared to be letting natural light through from above though Harry was certain that must be a charm given how the Ministry was put together. Numerous plants hang in charming baskets from various points at the ceiling and Harry’s half-remembered Herbology lessons told him they were all edible, although some had scents intended to increase the appetite. The effect when combined with the shimmering spots of gold light reflected from the fountain was light and airy and most pleasant.

Draco was already there, sitting at a table reading the _Daily Prophet_ with his feet propped up on the chair opposite, louche and irreverent and perfect.

He smiled up as Harry approached, grey eyes clear and lovely as a winter sky. “Dear Harry,” he said and for a wild moment Harry was afraid Draco would do something horribly inappropriate and kiss him right there. The fear must have flashed in his eyes as Draco’s expression narrowed, but he merely stood and held out his hand for his lover to shake.

“Lovely to see you, Draco,” Harry said, and he gently caressed Draco’s wrist with his fingertips to make up for his standoffish tone.

Draco’s smile was a little sardonic but he accepted the gesture and indicated that Harry should take a seat.

“I took the liberty of ordering some luncheon already. It should materialise in a few minutes.”

“Wonderful. How was your morning?”

“Uneventful. I declined to get dressed before it became absolutely necessary.”

Harry suppressed a smile. “Do you like it here?”

“I do. It reminds me a little of the Slytherin common room, which also had a glass ceiling. How was _your_ morning?”

Harry’s mouth curled a little. “Dull, dull, dull.”

Draco laughed at that, louder than Harry would have expected, enough to catch the attention of a number of other diners. Harry’s gaze darted around the room. Many familiar faces, a number of them alive with curiosity – swiftly hidden when he looked at them direct.

The Atrium was all but a goldfish bowl and Harry should have known that. _Had_ known but hadn’t thought it through, as was so often the case when it came to Draco. Would this be seen by others as a kind of declaration? Harry despaired of himself. Why did he never think anything through?

Draco would have said it was because of his Gryffindor-ity, no doubt.

The arrival of the food was a pleasing distraction. Harry immediately reached for a slice of pork pie, which he topped with piccalilli.

“Always so plebeian, Potter,” Draco teased. Somehow Harry knew that it was intended this time to soothe him, and to some extent it worked.

“We can’t all live entirely on cold mutton like the Queen.”

“Cold mutton! Indeed, how you malign our glorious Majesty. I hear rumours of six-course dinners every night and were it not specifically forbidden, I am certain we Malfoys would have been afforded the opportunity to discover the veracity of this first-hand!”

“Well said, Draco,” said a voice from behind Harry, who closed his eyes against the inevitable. Naturally, Lucius would see fit to interrupt their lunch.

Draco’s face snapped shut like a door to a debt collector. “Father,” was all he could manage.

Harry began to lift his napkin from his lap when Lucius’s hand came down on his shoulder. “No need to get up,” Lucius purred. “I merely wished to greet my son and of course to let you know how much I look forward to working with you on the Committee for Muggle Relations.”

Harry leaned to the side in order to dislodge Lucius’s hand and to meet his eyes. “You are not on that committee.”

“Am I not?” His eyes gleamed.

Harry was inclined to give Lucius the cut direct, but he was after all here with the man’s son. He wanted to afford those subtly watching no further cause for speculation or gossip. He swallowed his rudeness. “I meant to say, it was not announced this morning.”

“No, indeed. But one appointee has seen fit to give his place up to me.”

That could not possibly be good.

Lucius smiled, or at least bared his teeth. “I will therefore see you later this week, if not before.” He raised his eyes to his son. “Your mother would be grateful for a visit,” he said, and then he was walking away, back to his ever-faithful shadow, Crabbe, who smirked at Harry before the two sat at a table with several others on the other side of the Atrium.

Draco was waiting for Harry to turn back to meet his eyes when he finally did. “Don’t rise to it,” he said. “Father always wins.”

Lunch was rather subdued after that.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
The first meeting of Committee for Muggle Relations took place a mere two days later. Harry had tried to put his encounter with Lucius from his mind, along with that plaintive warning from Draco, but had found it exceedingly difficult.

He had sent an owl to Hermione to let him know of his appointment to the committee and asked if there were particular issues of which she felt he should be aware. He knew her well and as expected, she had been unable to resist lecturing him via the written word on the importance of the work of the committee. The letter began rather cold, but Hermione was always one to warm up to her subject if not her addressee. In particular, a private member’s bill that contained relatively innocuous language but which could apparently be interpreted to allow for whole populations of Muggles to be forcibly relocated away from sites of interest to wizards had caused her ire. A long paragraph explained that this had been inspired by the treatment of Muggle tenant farmers in Scotland and Ireland, rather ironically, and that would likely be used as justification. Harry fully agreed with her assessment that two wrongs should not make a right, though he snorted when he read that last.

He was English and proud of it but not blind to the faults of the Empire, and determined to make at least his small corner of it better. That was what he had fought the war for, to stand up to injustice. Somehow he had forgotten how much purpose such action had given him; he would not forget again.

It was rather inevitable, he supposed, that the bill was being particularly supported by the other new member of the committee: Lucius, Lord Malfoy.

“Draco, I fail to see how visiting your parents for tea again will be any less awkward than last time. Particularly after I faced off with your Father over that bill Rosier wants to pass.”

Draco straightened his cufflinks, examining himself in the large mirror which was in the middle of telling him how attractive he looked. “All the more reason for us to go, don’t you think?

“What do you hope to achieve by it?”

Draco looked at him over his shoulder. “If your father kept telling you how much you disappointed him, would you not do everything you could to rectify it?”

“It is hard to know,” Harry said feebly.

“Your Sirius, then. You have kept me away from him specifically to avoid such a reaction, is it not so?”

Harry looked away. “You make me sound like a coward.”

At this, Draco turned to him fully. “Never that, Harry,” he said softly. “But you know as well as I that we see things differently. This is important to me.”

He let that hang for a moment.

“Then how can I refuse?” Harry said at last. “I hope you know that I would countenance such a thing for none but you.”

“Of course I know,” Draco said, kissing the tip of Harry’s nose fondly.

“I just… I remember how badly it affected you. Last time.”

That subject had not been brought up between them since the night it happened.

“Yes,” Draco acknowledged. “Yes, I know that was hard for you. If something like it happens again, bring me back here and fuck me brutally until I feel like myself again.”

Harry’s cock stirred. “And if it goes well?”

Draco snorted. “In that unlikely event, fuck me brutally in celebration.”

Harry eyed him speculatively. “Do we have enough time to—”

Laughing, Draco kissed him full on the mouth. “I think it best we not show ourselves in a state of ravishment, hm?”

After, Harry reflected that he couldn’t see how anything, even that, could have made the occasion worse. Narcissa was all charm and grace, as usual. Draco obviously doted on her but she was inclined to treat him like a fretful child.

Lucius, though, was silent through most of the visit, rarely adding to the conversation unless directly spoken to.

“One drop of Muggle blood may not make a Muggle, but multiple acts of perversion do make one pervert would you not agree?"

Harry jumped to his feet. "Lord Malfoy, what—"

But Lucius was not finished. "Really, Draco, do you truly believe you can convince me to approve of this? You did not wish to marry Pansy Parkinson – such things happen, I did not insist. But you turned down another suitable young lady last week and bring a _man_ home for me to meet?” The way he said _man_ was somehow more venomous than any insult Harry had ever had hurled his way.

“Lucius—” Narcissa began, distress writ large on her lovely face.

But Lucius went on, “I conceded that as male lovers go, you could have done far worse. I remember I once hoped that you would follow Potter's example and marry. I did not expect that instead you would encourage him to follow yours. But he already has his heirs where you do not. He can afford to indulge himself. You must do your duty. I suppose I should be relieved that at least you will bring no half-bloods into this world and shame us all but I cannot: you are less than a man, unworthy to be my son and I…"

" _Silencio_."

Lord Malfoy's tirade ended abruptly as Harry, unable to bear another moment, pulled out his wand and cast the silencing spell. None of the Malfoys had noticed him do it, too absorbed in the battle of wills between father and son.

Lord Malfoy stood only a moment wondering what had happened before he turned to Harry, furious, and reached for his own wand.

" _Petrificus Totalis_ ," and it was Draco this time, paralysing his father and sending him to the floor. His wand shook a little as he aimed it but he managed the spell and his voice was even.

Narcissa gave a small cry and flew to her husband’s side.

Draco stood alone. "You have never managed to love me, Father, and now at last I give up trying to make you."

"Draco…" Harry began, reaching out to catch his shoulder.

Draco flinched away. "Let's go, Harry. Mother, I apologise for the scene." And he swept out of the manor, magnificent and free.

Back in the sanctuary of their rooms, Harry took Draco’s face in his hands. “How do you feel? Now that you have broken with him?”

Draco blinked, as if surprised by the question. “I feel quite well,” he said, surprised. “Indeed, I feel lighter, if anything.”

Thus reassured, Harry kissed him frantically. “You were beautiful,” he said between kisses. “Magnificent.”

“He will not, _cannot_ be permitted to ruin my life. Our life,” Draco replied as he tugged at Harry’s shirt.

“Our life,” Harry echoed, delight suffusing his body. He felt powerful, immortal, beloved, and as he dropped to his knees to take Draco’s cock in his mouth, the musk and hardness of him irresistible, he was overwhelmed with a sense of how lucky he was to have such a love.

Harry slid his mouth over his lover’s cock again and again until Draco was moaning above him, fingers knotted in Harry’s hair – though he did not tug, did not fuck his face but rather allowed Harry to worship him. The head of his cock hit the back of Harry’s throat and he gagged a little. Draco whimpered at the sensation so Harry let it happen again.

“Oh, Harry,” he whispered. “I would give up anything, anything in the world except you.”

Harry pulled back and Draco moaned at the loss, his fingers twitching as if to pull his head back down.

“I want you inside me,” Harry let himself say.

Draco’s glazed expression cleared a little in shock. “You want me to…”

Harry stood and touched Draco’s dear, beautiful, pointy face. “Make love to me, Draco.”

In response Draco crushed their mouths together, licking the spit and precum from Harry’s chin on his way to plundering his lover’s mouth. He slid off the rest of Harry’s clothes gently, so gently, his touches feather-light at first before becoming harder, more passionate but no less tender. His mouth curved in the purest joy Harry had ever seen him display.

It took a while, several fingers and a great deal of oil before Harry was relaxed enough to allow Draco to slip inside him. When at last Harry was open enough, Draco rolled on top of him, pressing their faces together, kissing him as he pressed inside. Harry hissed at the pressure and the sting of it. He wriggled, uncomfortable, but never asked Draco to stop. This was the closest he had ever felt to another person – completely different to any other experience of his life. The pain and pleasure bound together and Harry moaned even as Draco bottomed out and gave an animalistic cry of his own.

There were tears in the corner of Harry’s eyes as he gazed up in wonder at this man, the only man who had ever made him furious and desperate and whole. Draco stared back, face alight with happiness.

“You’re mine,” he near-growled and as he pulled out and slammed back in, Harry could only gasp and promise that yes, yes he was. Yes for the rest of time.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
“I am afraid that my learned friend is reading in double-meanings where none exist,” Lucius said smoothly. “The provision he refers to would merely permit the reclamation of important wizarding sites lost in witch hunts and other aggressive Muggle incursions into our way of life. Further, it would compel anyone taking such action to provide a similar accommodation for the dispossessed.”

Harry was prepared for that one, and disinclined to cut Lord Malfoy any slack at all. “The honourable gentleman makes mention of that provision, to which I would indeed ask the committee to turn its attention as there is no adequate definition of ‘similar’ nor indeed is the limitation on what may be ‘reclaimed’ defined.”

“Steady on, Potter,” muttered Ernie Macmillan, one of Harry’s few supporters on the committee. “One objection at a time.”

Harry flashed him a rueful look even as Edmund Burke, another one of the pureblood supremists got to his feet. “This bill will be crucial to ensuring that we wizards are able to rediscover a number of artefacts misplaced over the protracted period of the witch trials. It has now been long enough since Muggle brutality necessitated the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy for us to claim reparations for the lost estates, for one, and to seek specific items known to have been lost.”

“The Department of Mysteries has already been tasked with the latter, so I must assume the learned gentleman is rather preoccupied with the former,” Ernie added.

And on and on. Harry was not, it must be said, enthusiastic about his entry into politics. He would frankly rather have been on a field facing down a Dark wizard with only his wand in his hand. For a moment he speculated on how a duel between himself and Lucius would go, wondered if it was worth suggesting such a thing despite its illegality in order to resolve this matter once and for all.

Lucius turned to look at him then and for a moment Harry panicked, wondering if the man was a Legimens. He slammed up his Occulumency shields as best he could, but Lucius’s expression did not change, and in another moment he was back to the matter at hand.

The committee ended at the pre-determined time; this afternoon had been set aside for debate and the next meeting in two days’ time would be for the vote.

Harry exchanged a wry look with Ernie as he pulled on his gloves. He was almost out of the room when Lucius appeared before him, striking like a snake. “Mister Potter,” he said, emphasising both syllables of _mister_ in order to remind Harry of his place.

“Lord Malfoy,” Harry returned coldly.

“A most lively debate today, did you not think?”

“Not a word I would have chosen, but I take your meaning.”

Lucius’s smile only widened. “Quite. I would find it useful to discuss your position at another time.”

Harry frowned. “I hardly think—”

But Lucius was holding out his card and it would be the cut direct to refuse it before all these assembled. Harry considered it anyway, but resigned himself and took it even as he said, “I am sure I could reach you, should I find the need.”

“No doubt, Mister Potter,” Lucius returned. “Do bid my son a good evening.”

Harry might not even have looked at the card, might have stuffed it in a pocket or some such, but for the certainty that Lord Malfoy would do nothing without purpose. He sighed and looked down at it.

On the front in elegant script was merely his name, Lord Lucius Malfoy. On the reverse, a note. Harry had to read it twice to be certain, but there it was in front of him. His lover's father had written for all the world to see, <i>For Harry Potter, sodomite.</i>

Harry could feel the blood drain from his face.

“Potter?” Ernie’s hand clapped him on the back. “Are you well?”

Harry closed his fist around the card at once. “Quite well, thank you.”

“What did Malfoy want?”

Harry stared after him, the long white hair and the warm black cloak moving down the corridor at a disconcertingly normal walking pace.

“I am sure I’ll find out,” he managed, smiling weakly at Ernie before he made his own escape.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
Harry did not return to his suite – _their_ suite – at the Grand Western Royal. His head was buzzing. It could only be a threat. To ensure his help on committee? To put some distance between himself and Draco? Harry could not tell.

He was not ready to face Draco so he instead walked through Muggle London until he finally found himself at Grimmauld Place. Perhaps he could work out some way to bring Sirius at least partially into his confidence. It was one of the few bridges Harry had not damaged with fire, if not burnt to ash, by his relations with Draco.

He rang the bell and a muttering Kreacher opened the door for him. The Master was in the parlour, and Harry followed the creeping elf through to the room in question.

Sirius took one look at him and said, “That will be all, Kreacher.”

The elf continued to mutter as he stomped from the room.

“I am sorry to come unexpectedly,” Harry began. He found himself twisting his hands together, regretting that he had no plan for this, no idea how to bring Sirius into his confidence without exposing himself.

He needn’t have worried, for without warning Sirius blurted, “You are prigging _Draco Malfoy_?”

In his shock, Harry could say nothing, _do_ nothing but stare at the closest living man he had ever had to a father, and wonder what Sirius must think of him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Italian Gardens weren’t finished until 1860 but they are a handy landmark near Harry and Draco’s love nest hotel (which also wasn't open that year cough cough), so I took yet another historical liberty. I am also imagining that there was a fancier dining establishment in the Atrium back in the day. Because there’s no way Victorian Wizards would have been good with a place called “Ministry Munchies”.
> 
> Let me know what you think?


	17. Chapter 17

Sirius stared at Harry for a long moment before he finally gave a bark of utterly humourless laughter and demanded, “For the love of Merlin, Harry, have you run mad?”

“I…” There were still no words in Harry’s head, still no defence to offer. Sirius had caught him completely off guard. He cleared his throat and tried, “Is this because I had lunch with him at the ministry? Because—”

“No, Harry, it’s because you left your wife and have been acting oddly and you two have given rise to speculation. I finally thought to ask a few questions of my own staff and I find that you dined and who knows what else with him beneath my very roof!” Harry had seen Sirius angry before but never like this, certainly never directed at him.

The effort seemed to drain him; he collapsed back into his chair. There was a glass and an open decanter on the table next to him; Harry realised he had been drinking heavily, presumably to digest the results of his investigation. He’d come to the house at the worst possible time.

Harry sank into the nearest chair himself. There was no way to deny it now.

Sirius laughed again, sharp and hurt. “A Malfoy, of all people! They are all cruel, Harry, even the ones who are not outright evil. Abraxas Malfoy was well-known for spit-roasting a house elf who displeased him over his fire! Morpheus Malfoy earned his nickname by inventing the Draught of Living Death, which he used liberally on all his political opponents.”

“That was a hundred years ago!”

“So? You think they have changed? Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater not a decade ago and was working on anti-Muggle legislation _yesterday_.”

“None of those people are Draco!”

“No, indeed,” Sirius agreed. “The Malfoys of the past have been exacting, intelligent and quite ruthless. Draco by all accounts is a spoiled child who likes to pull the wings off flies.”

“You don’t know him!”

“I know enough, Harry!" Sirius roared, slamming his glass onto the table so that Firewhisky slopped everywhere.

Harry fell silent. His head was whirling: Sirius had said so much against the Malfoys that Harry had missed something obvious – why was he so relatively sanguine about the fact that Harry was engaged in sodomy? As Sirius glared at him, the quiet got Harry’s mind ticking and he reached a conclusion so obvious that it must be correct and Harry could only berate himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Well?” Sirius was growing impatient. “Do you have nothing else to say for yourself?”

"Only this. You are a hypocrite.”

If Sirius had been enraged before he was now incandescent. “What did you say?”

“You think I do not see?" Harry spat back at him. "You think I do not see the way you are with Remus, he a widower, you a 'confirmed bachelor'? You think I do not understand what he is to you? That is how Draco is to me!"

Sirius's face turned chalk-white. Harry felt a sick triumph at having seen what Sirius had not meant him to see before Sirius emptied his glass and immediately refilled it, hand shaking.

He did not speak until he had taken another two full glasses of the spirit. Finally, he began in a more quiet tone, "Be that as it may, Remus and I have sense enough not to flaunt who we are in front of the peerage!"

He was not going to deny it then. Harry took a long breath to steady himself. “I could use some of that,” he said, indicating the decanter.

“Then you should have brought your own,” Sirius replied. At least there was a hint of humour there now. Harry gave a small, half-smile.

By some incredible good fortune, he was speaking to the one person who would not judge him for his inclinations, who would understand why he had felt compelled to follow this feeling wherever it led.

“I should like to tell you about it,” he said haltingly. “If you would permit me.”

Sirius kept eye contact with him as he drained his glass one final time. “In that case, I rather think we had get another bottle after all.”

Dobby was summoned, drinks were poured and Harry began his tale. He omitted some details – the renters, the roles between the two, the most private details. He talked well into the night and Sirius listened well and calmly, lighting cigarettes in between drinks.

“So you see,” Harry said, his throat dry from the smoke in the room and the effort of talking, “the relationship between Draco and I – I could not possibly give it up.”

Sirius sighed. “You’re completely arse over teakettle, aren’t you?”

Harry chuckled. “I suppose you could say that.”

“In some ways it’s wonderful to see,” Sirius said. “You seemed to be constantly retreating into yourself after the war ended. It was like all that certainty and strength bled away and you did not know how to find another place in the world.”

“I did not realise,” said Harry, “how far from myself I had grown until I came back to myself armed with new knowledge.”

“And you credit Draco Malfoy for this?”

Harry nodded. “Almost entirely.”

Sirius sighed deeply. Harry wondered if he had managed to drink himself sober. “Nonetheless, Harry, you must give him up.”

Harry made an impatient noise in his throat but Sirius pressed on. "Do not underestimate Lord Malfoy's influence, Harry. He may not wish harm to his heir but make no mistake, if he can find any way of separating you he will do so and he will have no compunction about destroying you to achieve his end."

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "We cannot allow him to run our lives. We _cannot_ **.** Draco says—"

"Do you think I care a whit what Draco says?" Sirius burst out, a man pushed beyond endurance. "Listen to me, as you should have when I told you to stay away from him: if you pursue this course it can lead only to your destruction."

Harry folded his arms firmly across his chest to keep the lancing pain the thought of losing Draco caused from tearing him apart. He looked Sirius full in the face and said simply, "I love him, Sirius."

Sirius bit his lip as though afraid he might scream. 

"I know it is against all reason," Harry went on, "but I could never give him up." He tightened his arms around himself and waited, breathless, for what Sirius would say to that.

"Harry, I love you as though you were my own son," he said at last. "But I cannot protect you from this. For this reason," he swallowed hard. "For this reason I will tell you now what I have never spoken of to a living soul."

Sirius' face was ashen. He sat, seeming to need the support of something beneath him. A long moment of silence followed as Sirius steeled himself.

"You know about Remus and I," Sirius began at length. "What I have to tell you happened before you were born."

Harry nodded, uncertain.

"It began at school," Sirius said. "Remus had always been there. I used to look at him without knowing what it meant, feel these…" He waved his hand, trying to find the right word before settling on, "desires." Sirius smiled a little. "He was beautiful, Harry. He still is, to me."

"Go on," Harry said softly.

"Well," Sirius said, "I will spare you the details. There was a great deal of confusion on both sides – anger, denial, pain, heartbreak, before we finally admitted to ourselves and each other that we needed one another." Every word seemed to cost Sirius a tiny part of himself. He seemed to shrink as he told Harry, "We kept it a secret. No one knew – your parents suspected, I think, but they never pried and they never treated us differently. I could not have made it through my adolescence with my parents if I had not had Remus."

"You are lucky to have such a love," Harry could not resist saying.

"You do not yet know what it has cost," Sirius said sharply. Harry could make no answer; he fell silent.

"It was more difficult after school," Sirius went on. "We could still see one another, visit, but it was harder to find places to be alone. We wrote often because we missed each other so terribly. I was nineteen when my parents discovered us."

Harry could barely breathe.

"It had been three years by then. But it was a secret, always a secret, until Regulus found out."

Something slotted into place inside Harry's mind. "That is why you always hated him so much."

Sirius nodded.

"They stopped you from seeing him?"

Sirius' mouth twisted. "Far more severe than that, Harry." Sirius paused for a moment. It seemed as though he was struggling to go on, emotion choking him. "They… They had me taken to Azkaban."

"What?" Harry flew to his feet at once. "But how- why-"

"It was felt that were I to receive a taste of the fate that awaits inverts, I would seek redemption," Sirius said bitterly. "It was all kept quiet – no trial, no official record that I was even there. It is truly amazing what can be achieved with enough gold. My father paid some men to drag me out of bed in the night. I was terrified, and when we arrived there…" Sirius took a long, slow breath. Harry could hear the tears in his voice, the terrible pain of what had been done to him.

"Remus didn't know what had happened at first," Sirius went on. "He was frantic but he didn't know what avenue to follow. He was certain I was not dead but could not locate me – he told me once he had never been that afraid in his life."

"But what about you?" Harry asked.

Sirius swallowed. "You have felt the presence of the Dementors, so you know. It is as though all the happiness in the world has been stripped away, as though all the joy and life and everything good turns to ice and pain. Imagine endless days and nights of that, with no respite. Imagine your happiest memories disappearing if you try to revisit them for comfort. In the first month I went to bed at night weeping and rose in the morning wishing I were dead. By the end of the third, I was merely waiting for the end."

Harry reached out and took Sirius' hands in his. "But you survived."

Sirius nodded. "Propitious timing. My cousin Nymphadora fell pregnant. The young man in question had departed for overseas and as she was unmarried, the scandal would have damaged the family for years."

Harry tightened his grip on Sirius' fingers. "They arranged for Remus to marry her."

Sirius nodded. The bitterness in his eyes transmuted into outright hatred as he spat, "Thus solving two family problems with one masterstroke."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Remus would never marry someone he did not love."

Sirius barked a laugh. "He would if it would save someone he did from a living hell."

"Oh," Harry said stupidly.

Sirius stood abruptly, forcing Harry to let go of him. "After that it was quite simple. Remus and Nymphadora took refuge in the country. She miscarried."

"But Teddy…"

"Teddy is Remus' son," Sirius said simply. "They were married, as you are married to Ginny."

Harry took the slight; he deserved it. And yet, "Remus loved <i>you</i>."

"Oh yes," Sirius said, his face twisting again. "But she was his wife and Remus would not betray her. He liked her very much as my niece, learned to love her as his wife. Her death in the war was very hard for him. The deaths of my parents and brother," Sirius' lips pulled back into a snarl, "were less hard for me."

Harry looked at his hands, folded in his lap. Sirius had been through so much, all for the sake of a love much like Harry's.

"I tell you this, Harry, for you must know that the risks you take are not worth the price," Sirius said gently. "I of all people understand the pain of this kind of love, but to flaunt it is to court disaster."

“That is what you learned?” Harry asked, his own heart breaking a little. “That love was not worth it?”

Sirius snarled in the back of his throat. “Listen to me, Harry. My relationship with Remus when we were young cost me a large part of my sanity. When your parents died, you should by rights have come to live with me right away but I was even then, even after all those years **,** living with the scars of Azkaban too deep. I had struggled and avoided but it was only until there was you, a purpose, that I really worked with the healers to overcome it. You spent years with those Muggles monsters because of me, because of my choices. Remus and Tonks lived in a barely stable marriage for years. Arguably it is my fault your parents died.”

“Do not say that!” Harry burst out, but Sirius did not seem to hear him.

“I did not trust myself,” he went on. “After all I’d been through, I did not trust that I would not to give them up the moment a return to the clutches of the Dementors was threatened. So I insisted they use Peter as their secret keeper, and sealed their fates.”

Harry looked up, tears welling in his eyes. “Sirius, no. No. You have borne so much. You and Remus both. But you have one another now?”

Sirius smiled sadly. “Aye, we do. But it’s all secret shadows and corners – that is how we stay safe. And that’s not who your Malfoy is, that much is crystal clear.”

Sirius had told Harry so many of his truths that Harry could only do the same. "I cannot be without him, Sirius. It is as though he owns every part of me, body and soul. I am completely his, to do with as he wishes. I would do anything for him. Anything at all."

Sirius nodded. "Do you truly believe," he said, coming to sit next to Harry at last, "that Draco Malfoy would do the same for you?"

Harry looked into Sirius' eyes. He had never seen it before, the kindness in him that was so like Remus – that perhaps he had even learned from Remus over their time together. They had been separated for years and never ceased to love one another. Harry feared that if he left Draco alone for more than a month the man would disappear into the arms of a rent boy and never emerge. 

Sirius had chosen someone kind, even on his worst days. Harry had chosen someone who could be devastatingly petulant and selfish, and it had never felt like a choice at all. He knew that Draco loved him, knew it down to his bones, but was Draco a person given to self-sacrifice?

"I do not know," he forced himself to say as he began to sob. Sirius' arms came around him, and he clung to his godfather, wishing himself far away, into the life of a man who had never been subject to desire or the monstrous whims of his own heart.

~o0O0o~

  
  
Harry woke a little too early the next morning, in his old room, with a monstrous headache brewing. Some kind soul – most likely Dobby – had placed some restorative potions by his bedside and Harry gratefully drank them at once.

He had now been away from Draco overnight, he reflected. Draco might well be frantic or furious. Harry would have preferred to wait and talk to Sirius again this morning, but he could not in good conscience leave Draco longer with no word. He sighed and rubbed his face. He had never managed to tell Sirius about the card, not with everything else they had had to say to one another. It would have to wait.

Harry washed himself quickly and left a note for Sirius in the library asking if he might come for dinner soon. He then Apparated to the safe spot in the park by the hotel and was back there by ten o’clock in the morning. The suite was deserted and Harry feared for a moment that Draco had panicked and gone to search for him. Or slipped out to Filch’s. Either would be terrible.

He need not have worried. Opening the wardrobe for fresh clothes set off an alarm of some kind and Draco appeared a second later, all wild eyes and rumpled clothes.

“Merlin, Harry, are you all right?”

Frantic, then. “I am. I’m sorry, Draco, I received a shock last night and I’m afraid I became rather inebriated.”

Draco was checking him for wounds or some such but at this, his eyes narrowed. “And where did you spend the night?”

“At Grimmauld Place.” He braced himself. “Sirius knows.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “And you are upset?”

“I don’t… _He_ was upset.”

“No doubt. Did he subject you to a great deal of Gryffindor moralising?”

Harry trusted Draco in some ways but not with the secrets of another. “Something like that. He also went to great lengths to warn me that your father would stop at nothing to separate us.”

Draco sighed. “He is not wrong there. But what can he do beyond what he has already done?”

Now was the time to tell him. Harry mutely handed the card over.

Draco took a moment to read it and his eyes flew at once to Harry’s.

“That was the first shock of the evening,” he said. The hangover had largely abated but Harry found himself ravenous. He could hardly go to breakfast looking as he did, though; nor could they discuss such a delicate subject where there was an opportunity of being heard.

Draco abruptly tore the card into pieces.

“What are you doing?”

“He cannot have this!” Draco spat. “He cannot come between us.”

It was quite the other way around, Harry was beginning to realise; Harry could not come between Draco and Lucius, not for long. Crabbe’s words so long ago now seemed like a kindly-meant warning rather than a threat.

Harry swallowed hard. “If he says things like this to the wrong people – the right people… Draco, what we do is still illegal.”

“So we’ll work out something he wants more.”

“You think there is anything he wants more than for you to marry and give your name an heir?”

Draco shook. “I don’t… I can’t do that, Harry. I worked so hard to be who I am. I can’t let him turn me back into that eleven-year-old who did everything he said to the point of committing our lives to the service of a madman.”

Harry frowned. He never pressed Draco on the war, and wouldn’t now. He could hardly profess surprise that Draco’s father had encouraged him to support Voldemort.

“I cannot say I’m delirious with the idea of you taking a wife myself, but Lucius may well keep attacking us until you do.”

“You ask me to give you up?”

The words flicked through the air like a whipcrack. Harry looked up, stricken by the tone of his voice, the expression on his face. “No, Draco, no, of course not.” He hauled Draco into his arms. “If it’s not something you can countenance then we shall have to find another way.”

“What if,” Draco began, and his voice sounded far away, thoughtful. “What if we could convince him that our relationship could benefit him in some way.”

Harry’s blood iced over. “What do you mean?”

“You said you and he argued over some bill or other?”

“Yes; it would mean that wizards could legally evict Muggles from their homes without any cause other than a desire to take their property!”

“But if you were to back him,” Draco said, still a million miles away, “then he might leave us be. I can work on Mother.”

“You want me to support a law which would ruin perhaps thousands of lives?”

“Muggle lives, Harry!” Draco cried. “How would that be relevant to you and me?”

Harry did not often let himself really perceive the gulf between himself and Draco but he could hardly ignore it now. He swallowed hard and stepped away from Draco to run his hands through his hair.

Rather than reply to anything Draco had said, Harry instead tried, “Does he have any undeclared Dark artefacts in the manor?”

“Is that a joke? He had hundreds and an Auror on the payroll. Harry,” Draco walked around him to impress him with the seriousness of his words, “we can’t beat him. He has friends everywhere, fingers in all the pies and he is an aristocrat. You… you think too middle-class.” Harry made a noise at this but Draco persisted. “You do, Harry. You are a hero to many of course but you have not played on that or leveraged it and that was fine when you wanted to live quietly but if you want to face down the Establishment you cannot do it from your current position.”

“And do you not have independent connections? Independent of him, I mean.”

“I do,” Draco looked awkward. “There are some I could look to for favours, but Harry, they would expect certain things in return and I…”

“Oh,” Harry said, understanding at once, imagining a younger Draco high on sex with older, privileged and powerful men.

“You see, it would be better by far to meet him halfway!” Draco said eagerly, as though he’d already convinced Harry he was right.

“Better by far that I compromise myself again. Yes, of course,” Harry said bitterly.

Draco recoiled as though Harry had struck him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, Draco, that I have already betrayed my wife and family and friends and now you’d have me betray everything I fought for?”

“Shut up about your fucking _wife_ ,” Draco snarled. He whirled around, his wand suddenly in his hand and shot a jet of light at the mirror, which shattered. Harry flinched from the sound. “I am sick of hearing about her. And your great betrayal and what this has cost you, always you.”

Harry scoffed, “Oh, so I am selfish and unreasonable, is that what—"

“Did you forget that I cursed my father for speaking ill of us?” Draco cut him off. “Did you already forget? The difference is, my dear idiot, that your family will excuse your sins whereas mine will go on the attack! That card is proof!” He was gesticulating madly, apparently unaware that he still held his wand. Harry wanted to disarm him but also wanted to see if he might be accidentally cursed because frankly that would be better than this.

The hell of it was that he was right. Sirius had cautioned him against his actions but Lucius had issued a warning shot. But for him to vote with Lucius after all this? It was too much to ask.

Harry felt his shoulders slump. “I need some air,” he said.

“You’re leaving?” Draco all but screamed.

Harry opened his mouth to say that he would be coming back but Draco had already snapped, “ _Incarcerous!_ ” and all at once Harry was bound in ropes.

“You are not going anywhere!” Draco’s face was full of fire and fury. “You are mine!”

Harry had taken about as much of this as he was prepared to. “ _Relashio,_ ” he said sharply and the ropes released their hold at once, despite his wand being on the other side of the room. Draco made a strangled noise and flicked his wand again; a jet of red light shot from his wand and Harry only just managed to dodge it. He flung out his hand to summon his wand and in a moment he and Draco were facing one another like duelling partners, both breathing hard, uncertain of what might come next.

Draco had a slight tell and Harry threw up “ _Protego!_ ” just as Draco shouted a spell Harry didn’t know: “ _Sectumsempra!”_

The shield charm took the brunt of it, but Harry lashed back as a cut appeared on his chin; Draco had aimed the curse at his chest and only part of it had struck him. Harry touched the sore spot and came away with bloodied fingers. He stared at Draco in shock. Draco seemed frozen to the spot.

“ _Expelliarmus_.” Draco’s wand flew into Harry’s waiting hand. He made no move to resist.

Harry shook his head. He felt the calm clarity he’d always felt in battle take over from the shaking furious fear that he was in love with a man who would do this. That was a problem for later. “I am going for that walk, now, Draco. I will leave your wand on the table by the door. If you try to stop me, I promise you, you will regret it.”

He did not look behind him as he left the room. Draco made no move to follow but Harry heard the sound of furniture being destroyed as he closed the door to the suite.

Harry, still shaken to the core, stormed into Hyde Park as though he too would spend his day breaking things. It would always be like this, he knew. Having Draco for a lover was like feasting with panthers. Or perhaps a snow leopard would be more apt.

Harry found a bench and put his head in his hands. All the choices before him were bad, and he knew it.

The park at least was peaceful and green, and Harry remained there hours, until the lamplighters arrived to illuminate the falling darkness.

He sighed. He was growing chilly now, and it was not sensible for a man of his standing to be out in the darkness, unaccompanied. If he was seen, people would talk.

Harry wondered bitterly if people ever did anything else.

He was almost at the park gates when he heard his name called. “Mr Potter?”

Harry sighed inwardly and turned. “Yes, who is there?”

The man gave no answer but merely stepped from the shadows into the lamplight. A familiar flash of light hair gave way to a face which bore no further resemblance to Draco. Harry frowned at him for a moment. “Kirke, is it not? I would not expect to find you here.”

“I s’pose not,” Kirke said. “Thing is, Mr Potter, I’ve got a letter here.”

“For me?” Harry still did not quite understand.

“No, sir. No, it’s _from_ you to Lord Draco. If you take my meaning.”

Harry’s mind raced as he both wondered what exactly the letter could possibly say precisely as he realised the nature of this visit. He shifted his weight slightly so that his hand was nearer his wand. “Is that so?”

Kirke nodded. “It’s beautifully written you know. Golden beauty and so forth.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Kirke continued, “I’m fairly sure I could get a decent offer for it from the _Daily Prophet_.”

“Is that so?” Harry said again, his whole body tightening as he made ready to spring into whatever action necessary.

“Yes. And I’ve got some bills now, you know. Had to get a potion to heal those bruises after you sent me flying. Another for the bump on the head.” He looked at Harry meaningfully, and Harry cursed inwardly.

It was true he’d hurt Kirke for daring to do what he and Draco had asked, just because Harry had changed his mind. He had brought this on himself firstly by going to renters and secondly by hurting them.

“I would certainly not wish you to bear such costs on my account,” Harry said, angry with himself, with Kirke, with everything and everyone.

“Much obliged, sir. Thirty Galleons should cover it.”

Harry scowled. “Thirty Galleons? That is an outrageous sum!”

“And yet, sir, I am quite sure that I could obtain a higher price by placing the letter up for bids. But I didn’t do that – I came straight to you. On account of your reputation as a man of fairness.”

On any other day, Harry might just have paid him off. He might have reasoned that it was the least likely to cause further harm but the truth is that he would have worried and fretted and possibly even asked Draco about it. Draco would most likely have laughed.

But on this night, Harry was already overwrought and furious and frightened. The previous day’s image of a duel with Lucius Malfoy shot into his mind and without another thought Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve. How simple to be merely a man with a wand in one’s hand.

In the gloom, Harry could not tell if Kirke’s complexion changed at all, but the boy did take a step back. “Now, Mr Potter, I…”

“ _Locomotor Mortis_ ,” said Harry and at once Kirke legs locked together. He fumbled for his own wand but Harry merely flicked his once more. “ _Accio_ Kirke’s wand,” then for good measure, “ _Accio_ Draco’s letter.”

Both flew into his hands.

“You can’t do that! You—”

“ _Silencio_.”

Kirke fell silent. Harry clenched his fist around the letter and the strange wand. That Kirke had one at all, Harry had not known for certain until now. He sighed as the adrenaline left him.

“Kirke, I really wish you hadn’t done this,” he said quietly. “You are quite right that it was ungallant of me to use a Knockback Jinx in such a circumstance and I will happily give you the cost of the potion ingredients. Which I reckon to be less than two Galleons; I shall offer you five, by way of compensation, and I apologise sincerely for my lack of gallantry.” He crossed to Kirke in a few steps and tucked his wand and the coins from his bag securely into a pocket in the coat; Kirke stared at him in fear, all but frozen even though Harry had not used a full-body bind. “I am sorry not to have thought of the damage done to you before, and I would happily have offered you compensation. There was no need for this.”

Harry shook his head and continued back towards the park gates, firing a _finite_ at Kirke when he judged himself to be a good enough distance away.

Kirke moaned and collapsed to his knees. He said something Harry could not make out.

Trying to keep his voice gentle, Harry asked, “Do you have something to say?”

Kirke looked up then and Harry noticed there were tears in his eyes. “I used to think you really were a hero,” he said. Harry stiffened. “But then you came and you…” He sniffled, wiped his face. “You’re just as corrupt as the rest of them.”

A rushing sound filled Harry’s ears. Kirke got up and ran, having landed his parting shot which had indeed struck true.

Harry was sick with himself. He had compromised so much already to have Draco: his marriage, his belief in fidelity, his relationships with the people he held dearest. Now he had used his magic against a boy whose only crimes were foolishness and greed.

How was it possible to feel so completely himself with Draco if Harry had to sacrifice so many of his best qualities in his name?

He could go no further down this road. He could tell himself that he had never seriously considered supporting Lucius but he would always know there had been a moment, more than one, in which he had all but resigned himself to it as an inevitability.

He would sacrifice no one else for his desire and freedom. Kirke had been a visceral reminder that men should _be sure your sins will find you out_. A reckoning was coming and Harry would have to face it – or he would no longer be Harry Potter but some other creature he would no longer recognise.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The parliamentary procedure here is cribbed from This House which was shown on National Theatre Live at Home. I’ve been catching up on my culture while in quarantine :)

Harry had rather hoped to thrash things out with Draco that night but when he returned to the hotel he found Draco sleeping huffily in the middle of a room largely torn to pieces by hand – his wand remained where Harry had left it. Harry sighed and cast a series of _Reparo_ s before slumping into bed beside him.

In the morning, Harry woke earlier than expected and ordered breakfast for himself in the suite’s sitting room. He stripped himself of the clothes he’d slept in and was half-dressed in his dressing gown when the knock at the door came.

When he opened it, to his shock it was not breakfast – or rather, not just breakfast. Beside the porter stood Harry’s wife.

“Ginny!” Harry started before collecting himself. “How nice,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. He found that he meant it; Ginny’s pragmatic toughness had always been a great comfort to him in their early years and he felt a nostalgia for it in light of everything happening with Draco now.

He did, however, remember her Bat-Bogey Hex from school and reflected that a foul temper was evidently a quality he looked for in a lover.

“I thought I’d join you for breakfast,” Ginny said brightly. “It has been too long and I have missed you.”

“And I you,” Harry told her, taking her hand in his.

What she would have said next Harry would never know, as the door on the other side of the suite opened and Draco emerged.

Harry’s fingers tightened on Ginny’s; she gave a sharp intake of breath and he released her at once, meeting her gaze in apology.

Draco crossed the room, all confidence in his robes, and placed a kiss on Ginny’s cheek as though they were old and dear friends.

“Ginny,” he said, voice smooth. Until that very moment, Harry would not have been certain that Draco even remembered his wife’s name.

“Draco Malfoy,” she responded, her brow furrowed in the confusion. She looked sharply towards Harry. “I didn’t expect you to have guests so early – I came to bring you some letters which have been collecting at home.” She smiled tremulously. “You know, the hand-delivered ones to the ‘chosen one’ himself.”

Their private joke. “It was very kind of you to come in person,” Harry managed. His whole life felt poised on the edge of destruction as he glanced between the two people who had meant the very most in his life.

“It’s so much more convenient for Harry, living in the city when he must attend the Wizengamot every day,” Draco said blandly, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. He was occupying himself by pouring coffee, and ostentatiously realised as he did that there were only two cups. “I’ll just ring for another cup. Or do you prefer tea, Ginny?”

“I… Coffee is fine,” she said politely though she was still frowning.

“Then I shall order an additional pot and cup. Would you care for anything else?”

Playing host here in Harry’s space was not exactly helping. Harry gritted out, “Would you please give us a moment, Malfoy?”

Draco’s lip tried to jerk itself into a sneer before he mastered himself and replied, “But of course. Potter.” And he returned the way he had come.

Harry managed a watery smile at Ginny, frantic for her to believe that all was well even as his own heart raced.

Ginny did not ask the obvious question, though the slight frown remained on her face. She instead came directly to the heart of the matter, a trait he appreciated in her. “The boys have been asking for you. All the time – they’re longing to see you.”

Harry’s shame at himself deepened. “I had not thought it had been so long. Of course, I’ll come round on Saturday. How is little Lily?”

“She is growing well,” Ginny said. “I did not know you had developed a friendship with Draco Malfoy.”

“Ah,” Harry shifted. “Well, I have been discussing with him his father’s actions on the Committee for Muggle Relations.”

Ginny hardly looked convinced, nor could Harry blame her. “At this hour?”

“He keeps strange hours.”

“I am sure.” Ginny’s frown remained until Harry pressed her for more details of the children’s lives and she allowed herself to be diverted. Perhaps she did not wish to know any more than he wished to tell her.

~o0O0o~

  
  
“Is your _wife_ gone at last?” were Draco’s first words when Harry stepped back through into the bedroom.

“She is,” Harry said. “Perhaps I should have left with her.”

Draco rounded on him, eyes full of furious hurt. “How can you say that? I—”

“You are jealous of her and jealous of my children despite the fact that I largely ignore all four of them for your sake,” Harry snapped. “I have changed and changed and changed all to make you happy but it is never enough. I must also change my politics to suit your father’s, I must threaten renters who try to extort me—”

“What?” Draco’s fury stalled as his attention was redirected.

“Oh, yes. I had a visit from Kirke last night. Not that I can blame him after the way I acted.”

“What did you do?”

Something in Draco’s tone made Harry’s eyes flash to his. “What would you have done?”

“Last time a renter tried to blackmail me I _obliviated_ him.”

Of course he had. Simple and clinical. “I’m almost surprised you don’t do it after each engagement, as a matter of course.”

“Why would I bother?”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. It was easy to forget that Draco’s experiences and the expectations placed on him were radically different from those Harry faced.

Perhaps he should have simply obliviated Kirke but at the time he simply hadn’t thought of it.

“Between that and your father, yesterday was really rather dreadful,” Harry said quietly.

“Yes, it was. Today hasn’t started well either,” Draco said, voice hardening again.

Harry sighed. “I did not anticipate her coming here. Perhaps I should have.”

“I don’t appreciate being made to feel like an interloper in our home.”

“I didn’t exactly appreciate your attempts to force me to stay last night,” Harry returned. He had not forgotten.

To that, Draco could say nothing.

“It feels as though everything is spinning out of control,” Harry said. He ran his hand over his face, slipping his fingers beneath his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do.”

Draco shrugged out of his smoking jacket and let his shirt slip off his shoulder. “You could start by coming here.” Harry turned to look at him more fully only to see Draco shrugging out of his shirt and collapsing languidly to the bed.

It was the first time Harry could ever remember being unmoved by Draco making such an offer. “I have to go to the Wizengamot.”

Draco stilled. “What will you say to my father?”

An excellent question. It felt as though about a year had passed since Lucius had handed Harry his card in the committee room.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. He took his glasses off and rubbed his face. “I won’t become his puppet.”

“Not even for me?”

Harry thought of the terrible night before, the violence and the passion, the turmoil and the thrill. How far he’d come – or perhaps sunk. But here was where he stood and this was where he would draw the line. Besides, “Would you even want me if I were?”

“Fine,” Draco snarled, righting himself and making for the door. “Do as you please. You always do.”

Harry watched him storm off and sighed inwardly. He did not have the energy for another of Draco’s tantrums; there was too much to think on now, too much at stake. And it would be ever thus with him, Harry knew: Draco did exactly as he pleased every moment of the day and simply could not understand that Harry was not built that way. Harry had been raised to do his duty. He might falter, he might be selfish at times, but there it was.

Thoughts of duty filled his mind again as he stood ready to vote.

“The question before the committee is as follows: Should the bill be presented in its current form to the Wizengamot for debate? Ayes to the right, nays to the left.”

This was it, then. A numbers game. If Harry voted with Lucius’s cabal, the bill would continue through the house. Who knew if it would pass? The Wizengamot was deeply divided on a number of issues. But if Harry did not vote with his conscience, he would have helped a law he found deeply disturbing overcome its first hurdle.

Harry crossed to the left, looking carefully at a fixed point on the wall behind the designated area. It was a nice wall, he told himself. Lovely wooden panelling.

He was greeted with a clap on the shoulder from Ernie, but when he turned, Lucius was looking straight at him, brow furrowed. Harry straightened and raised his chin.

“The nays have it. The bill must be reworded before it can be considered further. Let us break here for today and begin discussion of the next agenda item on our return.”

Lucius’s eyebrow twitched. He held Harry’s gaze as he nodded, just slightly. _Have it your way_ , the gesture said most clearly.

Draco had been right; the vote would have appeased him. It would at least have bought he and Draco more time. But now the die was cast.

In that moment Harry was tense and worried and many other things, but he was also relieved. He had been strong enough not to sell out what remained of his integrity.

All that remained was to face the consequences.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
The first of the consequences did not take long to manifest. When Harry returned to his hotel suite that night, Draco flew at him immediately. “You voted down the bill!”

Harry took off his hat and cloak with a sigh. “I voted down the bill.”

“Father is furious.”

“I thought you two were already at odds?”

“And you thought that gave you carte blanche to disrespect him with impunity?”

Harry laughed hollowly. “Never with impunity, Draco. Never that.”

“You have to take it back!”

“I cannot. The vote has been made. And if the bill comes back without significant amendment, I shall vote it down again.”

Draco’s voice was odd when he said, “Do you really think he will permit that? In his mind you have added insult to injury. He will see no alternative but to take you off the board.”

“And what would you have me do, Draco?” Harry shouted. “Kowtow to him? Sell out the last of my principles so that you can hold on to yours? _What_?”

Draco swallowed hard. “It’s too late for all that, don’t you understand? He’ll be coming for you.”

“You think he intends to make our relationship public?”

“He could not do that without exposing himself to ridicule. No, Harry, he is far more subtle than you can conceive. Because of all the many things you are, subtle is not one of your qualities.”

Harry sighed deeply and sank into a chair. “We could talk this through for ever and I doubt I’d grow closer to seeing a way out of this mess.”

“We could go away together.”

The words sat heavy in the air. Harry looked at Draco properly for the first time since his return. He was paler than ever, twitchy and nervous.

“You want us to…”

“Harry, think about it.” Earnestness filled Draco’s face. It was a most peculiar expression on him and filled Harry with great unease. “We go away. To the continent, where the laws are considerably less restrictive. We can live together there, openly.”

Harry was already shaking his head. “And your father would permit that? Would leave you alone when you still have not supplied him with an heir to your name?”

“He’d have to,” Draco said, but Harry could tell he didn’t quite believe it himself. “I could convince mother, I know it, and she is the only person he ever really listens to. We could have a life together, a real life.” Draco had grown closer to Harry and took another step now, sinking to his knees. “The Blacks had a cottage in Provence. Imagine a life there, drinking wine, socialising with other men of fashion. Walking and touching in the open. It’s sunny there most of the time. You’d love it, Harry. You could get a suntan while I’d be doomed to use a parasol like a woman, I suppose, but it would be the two of us and it could be good.”

It was a beautiful scene he painted, but…

“You’re not sure? Italy, then. The seat of the Renaissance. Art and culture and wine and food, and a rich history. Still in the sun, no help for that.” Draco looked wretched, suddenly. “Harry, I love you. Please.”

Harry reached out to cup Draco’s cheek, his fingers caressing the tips of his white-blond hair. “It’s a fantasy, Draco. You know it. Lucius would come for you.”

“We could fight him off!”

“And we’d never see our families or friends again. I have already missed most of Lily’s life, Ginny was right about that.”

Draco’s mouth tightened. “That woman will always have a hold on you—”

“Don’t,” Harry said gently. “Don’t. You would never see your mother again either.” Draco frowned, ready to disagree. “You couldn’t. What if she did come to see you and your father followed her? Or hurt her to get to you?”

“He would never hurt _mother_ ,” Draco said, but his hands were trembling. Harry took them in his, held them tightly.

“The storm is coming, Draco, and until we know what form it’s going to take we can’t know how to ride it out.”

Draco looked back into Harry’s eyes and said miserably, “We do know. The only thing we don’t yet is how far it will go.”

To that, Harry could say nothing.

~o0O0o~

  
  
Time was doing strange things. Or, more likely, it was Harry’s sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on him. Dreamless Sleep was no longer helping and the yawning melancholy was growing, threatening to swallow him whole. How many times had he been in committee? How many times had he gone to bed? It seemed like barely any at all yet somehow everything had changed.

He had not been sleeping well even before Kirke and Lucius and Ginny had all struck him in quick succession. Now he was barely sleeping at all. Instead he made increasingly violent, frantic love to Draco who took everything he had to give with desperation in the lines of his body. They both knew time was running out.

He had known it would start with whispers. He had kept his ears and eyes sharp. He had tried to ask Sirius what to do but his godfather had no comfort or advice to offer.

“You could resign, I suppose,” Sirius said. “But that would give credence to any talk already existing. You could go home to Ginny.”

“You think this would not follow me there?”

Sirius hesitated, and Harry saw the truth in his face. “I think if you do, whatever misfortune Lucius has planned for you will end up involving your wife and children, if it doesn’t already.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Solidify any friendships you have in development,” Sirius said at once. “Reconnect with your Hogwarts classmates. Accept some more of those speaking engagements I know you abhor – remind everyone of your past heroics and it will be much more difficult for Lucius to undermine you.”

Harry sighed. “I have never been very good at any of that, Sirius.”

“You were always good at fighting for your life, though. And this is every bit as serious.”

A long shaky breath helped steady Harry. “You are right, of course.”

Sirius patted his hand. “You will see, Harry. The Malfoys will always have their supporters but as long as you are respected as a hero, Lucius can do nothing more than spread rumours which your allies will dismiss as spite.”

Harry hoped rather than believed him to be right.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
“I must say, Potter, I was delighted you decided to accept my invitation,” said Ernie.

Harry forced a smile. “Well, I realised that I have been lax about connecting with my fellow Wizengamot members. It is so easy to become all but a hermit.”

This soiree was essentially a Hufflepuff reunion with a few additions. As he looked around the room, Harry remembered Cedric Diggory – brave and handsome and gone too soon. And in retrospect, Harry’s first male crush.

Ernie was talking. “Indeed! I confess I did rather wonder what you were doing with all your time in town.”

Harry grimaced, an expression which felt far more natural than a smile. “I have had occasion to learn much in little time.”

Ernie clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way, and re-introduced him to a number of half-remembered schoolmates: Herbert Fleet, who had been on the Quidditch team; Gwendoline Hedgeflower who he remembered fighting at the Battle of Hogwarts; Anthony Otterburn who had been a fixture in the Herbology greenhouse and remembered Neville better than Harry. Some of the conversations were interesting and other less so, but Harry was exhausted when he returned to the hotel that night.

Draco was still spiky and sulking and it only got worse as Harry accepted invitations from Luna Scamander and Seamus Finnegan and all the acquaintances he had been disregarding in his single-minded pursuit of Draco.

“It is the only way I can think of to fight your father,” Harry whispered into Draco’s shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time. “It would be a good idea for you to do the same.”

“I am not the beloved hero,” Draco always replied. “No one worships me. Instead, I have the Slytherins.”

Except on this night, Draco turned back to Harry and said very clearly, “I have some contacts who would most likely be very useful. They are men not much younger than Father. I do not think you would like what they would ask me to do in return.”

After that, Harry said nothing.

He and Draco barely touched for a fortnight. They had always managed to make this room their sanctuary and Draco had fondly imagined they could force that sanctuary out, change the world around them. Instead, it was as Harry had feared: the real world was closing all around them. Something was about to break.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
“I had hoped we could have a chance to speak, Mr Potter. It has, after all, been too long.”

Lucius. Harry had been anticipating this; he had already been invited several times to meet but had carefully declined, citing prior engagement after prior engagement. Apparently Lucius had grown tired of waiting, and he, too knew which hotel Harry and Draco resided in. He had been waiting in the sitting room when Harry arrived, dressed in silver brocade robes with the air of someone who could easily wait a year and enjoy every moment.

“I disagree, Lord Malfoy,” Harry said flatly.

Lucius’s lips curved in a wintry smile. “Indeed. Then I will come directly to the point.”

“Where is Draco?” Harry interrupted.

“Having tea with his mother. I thought it best we speak alone.” He gestured towards a chair and Harry’s blood boiled at being treated as a guest in what had become his own home. Lucius clearly noted it, and continued smoothly: “You have made it clear that you care not for aspersions cast upon yourself and I commend you for that. There are always so many whispers at court that declining to give credence to any is most wise.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, refusing to be intimidated. He took his seat and waited.

“And of course, you have the Potter and Black fortunes on which to draw should misfortune strike.”

That one struck a nerve. What did Malfoy intend to imply?

“Your in-laws, of course, are not so lucky,” he said and Harry’s breath caught.

“What?”

“Well, you know of course that the Weasleys once held seats on the Wizengamot but due to a decline in fortunes over the last few generations, have been reduced to… employment.”

“There is nothing wrong with—” Harry began hotly.

Lucius waved the hand holding his cane. “Yes, yes, you undoubtedly hold views on such things, however, the point remains: they are reliant on salaried income. The Wizard Wheezes no doubt fund a great deal of the family lifestyle – trade, indeed – but Weasley Senior relies on his Ministry salary. As does his son in the Minister’s office. Another is an Auror.”

 _Ron_. “You do not run the Ministry.”

“Do I not?” Lucius seemed amused. “And yet, there are often reshufflings and changes in structure and I know precisely what to say to whom in order to ensure that at least half of that family, who were so kind to you from such a young age while your godfather struggled, are reduced to penury.”

Harry’s hands balled into fists.

“There is, of course,” Lucius went on, “an alternative.”

“Let me guess,” Harry snarled.

Lucius waved his hand grandly. “You already know what I want, Mr Potter, and your course of action is entirely up to you. I will confine myself to remarking that if you insist on continuing this dalliance with my son, I will be forced to resort to all means at my disposal to separate you.”

This was it, at last, then. “You would make him miserable. You have shown him no love and you would destroy it where he finds it.”

At this Lucius’s mask slipped; the smirk was replaced with a furious hatred. “Do not presume to lecture me about my own son! What could you, a half-blood, understand about the obligations of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? I have raised him to be a Malfoy! We are but caretakers of the name for the next generation and I will not see it destroyed by the whims of a gal-boy!”

Harry’s hand tightened on his wand. He could curse Lucius again, of course he could, but what would it change beyond making his opponent even more determined to destroy him? “You have said quite enough, sir. I must ask you now to leave.”

Lucius stared at him for a second before nodding sharply. “Very well. I trust you will make a decision shortly. In the interim, I may have to take steps to convince you of my sincerity.”

Before Harry could ask, Lucius had turned and Disapparated with a _crack_. Harry looked at the empty space where he had been, then buried his face in his hands.

It was Percy. Not a day after Lucius’s threats, Percy lost his position at the Department of Magical Transportation. He was not outright dismissed but rather shuffled to a lower position in a different department – a better outcome than Harry could have expected for him but no doubt intended merely as a first step, to demonstrate Lucius’s sincerity.

Harry heard about it from Ron, who wrote him a letter with a few bits and pieces of news but who was really writing to ask if Harry had heard any rumblings about this at the higher levels, did he know the reasoning? He also invited Harry to dine with he and Hermione but Harry didn’t dare in case he let his own complicity slip. He did though force himself to attend the all-Weasley intervention meeting where the whole family came together to talk through Percy’s next moves. There was less pressure on Harry with so many voices in the room wanting to be heard. Percy seemed humiliated by the whole thing, always proud, and kept asking everyone to hush. Ginny had brought the children, who clustered around Harry to envelope him in their joy at seeing him. How much the boys had grown without him filled him again with guilt and self-loathing even as the sight of them lifted his spirits. So many feelings flowed through him that he recalled Hermione listing everything Cho Chang must have been feeling after Cedric’s death and how he’d struggled to understand how one person could feel so many things all at once. He understood now, when there was no friend to talk him through it; Hermione would not look at him while Ginny seemed near tears more than once. Ron was too focused on his brothers to notice, which was Harry’s only saving grace.

It was one of the worst evenings he could remember.

On his return to the hotel, he lingered in the outer room and forced himself to think through everything that had happened in the last month: he had been blackmailed, Draco had been first violent, then withdrawn and now all but silent, Lucius had threatened him and carried out the threats… It was too much.

Harry had faced death and hiding and torture and torment but all of that had been for a discernible greater good. What was this all for? The sake of a man who barely looked his way any more?

“Your father had Percy Weasley removed from his position at the Ministry,” he told the lump huddled in the bed when he entered the room.

“How do you know—”

“Because he told me he would if I didn’t call it off with you.”

The lump moved and Draco’s messy hair poked up from beneath the sheets. “I see. I had no idea you cared so much for Percy Weasley, of all people.”

Harry snarled low in his throat. How was it that Draco could drive him insane in mere moments. “I care that I am responsible for his life being ruined!”

“You aren’t,” Draco said simply. “That is all Father’s doing.”

Harry sighed, the fight leaving him all at once. “Yes, I know. I know, Draco, but I have it in my power to stop all of this. I bolstered myself against an attack so he has turned instead no my family.”

“Your family. The Weasleys,” Draco said dully.

“They are only caught up in his sights because of me.”

Draco said nothing at first. Then he laughed, hollow and hurt. “I knew you’d eventually leave me. I knew you wouldn’t love me enough.”

Bile rose in Harry’s throat. “This isn’t about how much I love you, Draco. This is about what it’s costing everyone else. Percy was the warning shot – Arthur could be next, or Ron—”

“Yes, your beloved Ron,” Draco broke in. “The person you chose to befriend at Hogwarts instead of me.”

Harry frowned.

“You don’t even remember, do you? Me trying to introduce myself on the train.”

“I…” Harry had a vague memory of a boy who reminded him of his cousin, who had said something snotty. But they’d never spoken again, that he could recall. “You’ve been holding a grudge since the start of school? Draco, what the devil is _wrong_ with you?”

“You always choose everyone else instead of me,” Draco said, soft and self-pitying. “And you’re going to do it again.”

“I pushed away my family and everyone else in my life to be with you,” Harry whispered, his heart breaking at what he was hearing. “But it will never, never be enough, will it?”

Draco looked at him for a long moment. “You cannot have everything. It is simply not possible. And when you finally accept that, it may well be too late.” He rose from the bed then, naked but for some crumpled underwear, and pulled on his outer robes.

“Where are you going?” Harry demanded. “The renters again?”

“No, _Potter_ ,” Draco spat and Harry felt his heart break. “I’m going home to the Manor until you pull your head out of cock alley.” Then he spun on the spot and was gone with a _crack_.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the home stretch now! Big hugs to all you lovely commenters, especially lijahlover, the real MVP xx

“I need some time to myself,” was how Harry announced himself to Sirius.

Sirius, bless him, merely showed Harry to the room he usually stayed in and told him he could reside there as long as he wanted.

“I’ll have to go back to the hotel at some point,” he said quietly. “I’ll need my things and make a payment on the bill.”

“ _You_ are paying for it all?” Sirius said, incredulous. “Despite all of Malfoy’s money?”

“His father would hardly afford him an allowance for the purpose,” Harry returned, and Sirius conceded the point.

“Do I take it from this that you have broken with him?”

Harry hesitated; Sirius took that as his answer. “Ah. Very well, Harry. I still think it would be the wisest course of action.” With that, he left.

Dobby brought Harry food to his rooms; Sirius had indicated that he would be available to Harry any time he felt ready to talk but that was unlikely to be soon. Harry felt hollowed out, hurt and furious. Lucius had beaten him, and Draco had pulled away from him. Still, he thought about a life where he had never realised this truth about himself, never spent time with Draco and though it would have been quieter, easier, it would have been half-lived.

~o0O0o~

  
  
Harry slept badly, as had become his habit. It was strange not having Draco near him, even if he had been sleeping on the other side of the bed lately, stranger still to be back in Sirius’s house where he had in recent years most usually stayed with Ginny.

In the morning, he washed and dressed, and headed first to Gringotts to convert some of his Galleons into sovereigns, and from there to the hotel to make a payment on his bill. He thought about giving the suite up entirely, but he knew what Draco would make of that and he honestly did not know where they could go from here.

He loved Draco, but that love was threatening to undo all of him. He loved Draco to madness and had neglected all his duty. What would he become if this continued?

The concierge was understanding of Harry’s complaints, though he apparently had no notion that there had been unexpected visitors. Harry could hardly be surprised: although he had chosen a Muggle establishment for the sake of discretion, it had come with a number of compromises on security – there were dozens of ways for a wizard to slip past even the most eagle-eyed of Muggles.

In the suite itself, Harry began methodically packing his things into a trunk much larger on the inside than the outside. He had half-expected that Draco would have destroyed everything he’d left behind but instead everything was exactly as he had left it.

He was folding the last of his robes when the door opened – no knock. He called his wand to his hand instinctively and whirled to face the intruder.

An immaculate Blaise Zabini was not who he had expected.

“Potter. I will forgive your state of battle-readiness if you forgive the early hour and the unannounced arrival,” he said as he breezed past Harry and into the rooms.

“Er,” said Harry.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Quite.”

Did the whole wizarding world know this address? Harry sighed and put his wand away. “What do you want, Zabini?”

Blaise ignored him, taking in the suite instead. “It’s all rather bourgeois, but then, I suppose that was to be expected.” He hesitated. “Do you know where Malfoy is?”

“Why?” It came out rather more aggressively than he had intended.

Blaise raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I mean only that I happen to know he is at the Manor. If I know Lord Malfoy – and rather unfortunately, I have come to know him rather well — Draco will be there for some time and therefore we have an opportunity to speak. Candidly.”

Harry digested this for a moment. “I’m going to call for some coffee.”

“Excellent notion in principle, but I would rather not await its arrival.”

Harry scowled. “Are you here to collect Draco’s things?”

“I am not a house-elf,” Blaise retorted. “I am here to show you something I think you need to see. I know all about you and Draco, which I imagine does not surprise you?”

“Not overly,” Harry said with a sigh.

“Indeed. I have a memory I wish you to see. However, I do not wish to be long parted from it. Do you have access to a Pensieve?”

Harry nodded. “There is one at Grimmauld Place. But why—”

“Excellent,” Blaise said. “Then I will accompany you there. Are you quite finished packing your things by hand?”

The disdain with which Blaise said the last made Harry stiffen. He was tired and had been sorting his belongings by hand in order to help himself accept the transition away from the life he and Draco had shared these past months. “I suppose I am.”

“Very well. Jolty!”

An elf cracked into existence and bowed. “Yes, Master Blaise?”

“Pack up the items belonging to Draco Malfoy. In particular be sure to collect everything overtly wizardly. Then send them to Malfoy Manor and return home. Ensure you are not seen.” With that, Blaise turned back to Harry. “See? House-elf work. Shall we go?”

Mercifully, Sirius had gone out by the time Harry returned or he did not know how he would have explained Blaise’s presence. Kreacher had come creeping out of the kitchen to bow and scrape and offer him coffee, which Harry accepted having been denied a drink at the hotel.

Blaise sighed. “Potter, I really do not have all day.”

“And you won’t tell me what this is about?”

“You’ll see,” was the only answer he would make.

So Harry took them to the back room where Sirius had installed a Pensieve. Harry had never had cause to use it, but it was not secured – being in the house was surely security enough to Sirius’s mind – so it was the work of moments for Blaise to pull a silvery thread from his head and place it into the water for Harry to see.

On entering the memory, Harry found himself in a room he did not know, all striped wallpaper and cream furnishings. Blaise was reading, sipping a brandy; presumably this was his apartment. The book was titled _I promessi sposi_ , which Harry recognised as Italian, a language he did not speak.

The roar of a fireplace attracted Blaise’s attention. He frowned as though not expecting anyone, and carefully placed a leather bookmark into his reading material.

As he put the book down, Draco burst into the room. He was all but snarling.

“The devil take it all!” he snapped.

Blaise had never reacted to Draco’s temper that Harry could remember, and he didn’t now, saying merely, “Malfoy! What an unexpected delight. May I offer you a brandy?”

“Fuck’s sake, Blaise,” Draco snapped. “I was so close! He was hungry for it like you wouldn’t believe and now he’s decided that his wife is more important!”

“The nerve,” Blaise deadpanned.

Draco’s glare shifted to Blaise’s face. “He thinks he’s going to get away? From me? I kissed him senseless and gave him a taste of sweet death and now he thinks to avoid me?” His voice rose with every syllable and Blaise’s calm, sardonic expression was growing strained.

“Perhaps you could see your way to lowering your voice? Mother is entertaining.”

“I’m sure,” Draco snorted.

Blaise looked at him, evenly. “I know you’re upset, Malfoy, but if you insist on being a boor I shall say goodnight.”

Draco deflated at that, and sank into the nearest cream silk couch. “Who does he think he is?”

Blaise shook his head at his friend and stood, crossed the room to pour a port and retrieve the cigarette box. “I rather think he thinks of himself as Harry Potter – a man with a great deal to lose. Why on earth did you set your sights on him of all people, Draco?”

“Because he was too good to even know who I was at school and when we met again, I saw in his eyes that he wanted me.”

Blaise lit the cigarette hanging from Draco’s mouth. “You always were good at detecting those interested in the Greek perversion.”

“Why must you always talk this way?” Draco demanded.

“To annoy you, of course, dear Draco,” Blaise drawled. “It is the central preoccupation of my life.”

Draco made an incoherent sound and Blaise chuckled.

“Come now, Draco. I understand it must be galling for you to have a seductee refuse you at last, but it happens to the best of us.”

“Not to me,” Draco replied around a mouthful of smoke. “And it won’t happen now, either.”

Blaise returned to his seat with his cigarette and his port. “I see. You intend to make a nuisance of yourself until he – what, takes pity on you? Or throws you a fuck so you’ll leave him alone.”

“Shut up, Blaise! He wants me and I will make him see it.” Draco took a long, aggressive draw on his cigarette before stubbing it out. “By the time I’m done he will be completely at my mercy. He will swear he loves me and weep when I leave him.”

Harry clamped his hand over his mouth, the full horror of what he was seeing hitting him all at once.

In the memory, Blaise only hummed and sipped his drink, his attitude as blasé as if Draco was telling him that he intended to purchase a new book. “That is ambitious indeed, Draco.”

“‘Loved those of great ambition’,” Draco quoted with a smile. He downed the port all at once and crossed to kneel before Blaise, who opened his legs. Draco placed his palms on Blaise’s thighs. “I’m going to have him, Blaise.”

Blaise reached out a hand to stroke Draco’s cheek. “Of course you are, Draco,” he said softly. “Who could resist your full charm?”

Draco laughed a little at that, and bent to nuzzle Blaise’s groin through his trousers. Blaise let his head fall back, his hand in Draco’s blond hair.

Harry did not need to see more, although Blaise had not seen fit to end the memory there. With a roar, Harry pulled himself away as Draco opened Blaise’s trousers.

He emerged from the Pensive heartsick and raging. He rounded on the real Blaise at once, reaching for his wand – but Blaise, ever-cool, had anticipated this and raised his own to Harry’s throat. However, Blaise didn’t see the fist coming; wizards often had that weakness, never anticipating actual physical violence.

He reeled back, clutching his face. When he straightened, Harry had found his wand and the two squared off.

Blaise visibly forced himself to relax. “I suppose I should have expected that,” he said in his usual sardonic tones.

Harry didn’t know what he intended to say until “It’s not true!” burst out of him. “You cannot expect me to believe that all of it, more than a year, was nothing more than a revenge plot!”

Blaise’s expression changed again, becoming more thoughtful. “You see it with your own eyes but you will not believe it?”

Harry paused for a moment. He knew Draco to be capable of much, many terrible things, but this? “No.”

Blaise’s lip curled. “All right. I wondered if you would believe this was from today.”

“Did you fake the memory?”

“Do you think that to be possible?”

Harry’s fingers tightened on his wand. “I have had a very poor few days and my temper is short. I have no patience for your double-talk.”

Blaise gave a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snort. He forced his body to relax, easing his wand down; Harry’s eyes tracked the effort it cost him. “All right. Honesty, then,” Blaise said as though the word offended him. “That is a real memory but it is from some time ago.”

Harry took a deep breath and followed suit with his wand. “This is from before Scotland, isn’t it?”

Blaise’s lip curled. He held Harry’s gaze for a moment, coolly assessing, before he finally said, “That’s right.”

Something in Harry relaxed. He’d known. He _knew_ Draco. “But you wanted me to believe it was from today?”

“So that you understand. Whatever fantasy you had of a happy ending is exactly that: Draco chose you because you were out of reach but when the chips are down, he will choose himself every time. He’s not like you.”

“That may have been how it started. It does not surprise me, knowing him as I do. But it became far more than that. And I think you know it.”

Blaise merely inclined his head. “I can feel the wind changing and Lucius is in the role of Aeolus. He will ruin you to bring Draco into line and Draco is not strong enough to gainsay him. This ends one way for Draco, Potter — back in the loving bosom of his family. How it ends for you is another question. If you broke with Draco now and returned to your wife, well, it might be enough. Better by far to retire to the continent.”

“Run away?” Harry blinked his disbelief. It was as incredible to him now as it had been when Draco suggested it. “I am an Englishman! I fought to prevent this country falling into darkness and you would have me, what? Leave the Wizengamot to Lucius and the others who will put us back a hundred years? I have a duty—”

“You already chose love over duty and denying it is wasting time! Do you not remember the axiom that discretion is the better part of valour? Of course you don’t, you’re a bloody Gryffindor,” Blaise answered himself. “Potter, you have raised the ire of one of the highest in the land. The Sacred Twenty-Eight will all support Lucius because they cannot afford to have any of the lines go extinct: Draco must marry and produce an heir. It is his fate no matter how he chafes against it and you are in the way. If you let this go on it will be a death knell for all of us.”

“Forgive me if I do not weep for the Purebloods.”

Blaise made a scornful sound. “How on earth did you ever think to build a life in politics! I’m speaking of the men like us, Potter. If you are tried for this perversion, it will fill the _Daily Prophet_ for weeks – maybe years! And questions will be asked. If the people’s darling could succumb to such a _disorder_ then is anyone safe? Better by far to root out all the bumboys and punish them all.”

At this Harry fell quiet. He did not know how many others like him there might be, what would happen to them. “What will you do?”

“I?” Blaise laughed. “My family has an estate in Sicily. I will return to it, marry some local witch with a suitable fortune who is not put off by my mother’s martial misfortunes, and make out of all this quite well. But I would rather not be in the position where I fear to return to what I do regard as my home. Which is exactly what will happen, Potter. I know these people in ways you do not and they are malicious beyond all.”

Harry took this in for a moment. “I do not like that you tried to deceive me. But I shall think on what you said.”

Blaise’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, or perhaps it was resignation. Harry couldn’t tell. “Very well. I tried.” He reached for his wand with exaggerated slowness, and pulled his memory from the Pensieve, returning it to his head. “I think it best I be on my way, then.” He hesitated another moment until Harry gave him his full attention. “I know you’re used to a great deal of trouble, Potter, but I don’t think you’ve had nearly enough practice dodging it.”

~o0O0o~

  
  
Long after Blaise left with his memories, Harry brooded on what he had been shown, and all Blaise had said. The thing was, he could not tell himself that the memory had been altered – he knew what that looked like. Nor was it some stage play in Polyjuice – he knew Draco and that had been him.

So, it had begun as a game to Draco. The signs had been there, now that Harry cared to remember. "Isn't he the one…?" Nott had said and Draco had stopped him with "Not finished yet." Harry hadn’t understood at the time but he did now.

It shouldn’t have mattered, not after everything. But Blaise had shown it to him to sew discord – why? To hurt him, or Draco? Or to warn him? As though further warnings were necessary.

Harry knew he had hurt Draco by refusing to run away with him. Was that what Blaise was trying to push him towards? Was it as simple as wanting his friend to be happy?  
  
A soft “Harry?” startled him.

It was Sirius; Harry had been sitting here far longer than he had realised.

“Yes, Sirius. Sorry, I… Blaise Zabini came to see me.”

“Oh yes?” Sirius frowned.

Harry nodded. “He told me that he thought I should leave for Europe. That the Malfoys won’t just let this go.”

Sirius blew excess air out from between his lips. “And what do you say?”

“He’s probably right. They’ll try something else.” He looked at Sirius. “Lucius Malfoy had Percy dismissed from the Department Head position.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius frowned. “I concede that it is possible, but…”

“He told me he would. All the Weasleys, if I didn’t let Draco go.”

“And you think now he might proceed with his plan in any case?”

“I doubt it. That was just leverage. It is me he wants to destroy.”

The two men sat for a moment, lost in thought.

“We need brandy for this,” Sirius said at length, and called for Dobby.

The conclusion of the night’s discussion had been as follows: Harry would be best served by continuing to attend the Wizengamot as if nothing had changed. Ideally he would continue to socialise with all those connections he had worked hard to improve, keeping as many people as possible on side for as long as he could.

Harry missed Draco but had no idea what to say to him. His head was so full of contradictions that he could barely think, and the Draught of Peace had done nothing to soothe his anxiety. Perhaps he had taken it so often before that he was now immune. Or perhaps this was simply the worst it had ever been.

Harry hated it but he could see the sense. He had missed a full day already but went back the next to attend meetings and committees. Lucius Malfoy behaved as though precisely nothing had changed, as he always had and most likely always would.

Harry could not relax at all, despite Ernie’s good cheer and the relatively low-key debates. He trusted nothing he saw; there might be whispers in any corner. He was as on edge as he had been in fifth year when the rumours flew that he was crazy, dangerous, unhinged… What would the rumours say now?

“Are you well, Potter?” asked Amelia Bones in the hallway.

“A migraine,” he replied.

“Wrackspurts,” Luna Scamander said with authority.

“Potter,” the Minister said. “A word?”

Harry had spent the end of the previous week trying his best to remain calm and personable but he knew he had been a little fractious despite his best efforts. The weekend had been spent with Ginny, who had welcomed him home. The boys had been so happy to see him. James’s light hair was darkening into something more like his mother’s auburn while Al remained quite the image of his father. And Lily was crawling!

Harry had been present for James’s first steps and Al’s first words. He had missed so much time with his daughter already – he could only hope he would be granted the time to make it up.

He had heard nothing from Draco. He still wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

The Minister wishing to speak with him in the midst of all this was hardly a positive sign.

They had met in the Atrium; Diggory had managed to look for all the world as though he had merely been passing through but Harry did not believe it for a moment. He followed the Minister into the lifts and to the first floor into his office while Diggory greeted the other people they passed throwing only the occasional pleasantry Harry’s way until finally they reached the office and closed the door.

It was the first time he’d been here and it appeared rather plainer than he might have expected. But then, Diggory was not a man given to ostentation and Harry could easily imagine there had once been gold inlay and fabulous artworks which he had seen fit to remove.

One thing struck Harry in particular. “No portraits?”

“Far too easy to manipulate,” Diggory said. “Although admittedly they are easy to overlook. I have one room where certain conversations are held for precisely that reason. This one, on the other hand…”

Harry understood.

“I won’t beat around the bush, Potter. A formal complaint has been lodged against you with the DMLE.”

The breath left Harry’s lungs in a whoosh. They had done it. They had actually done it. “May I know the nature of this complaint?” Harry forced out.

Diggory waved his hand, dismissing the unimportant. “Frankly it’s too fantastic to be worth discussing and I would hate to sully your ears with it. The difficulty is, we have to be seen to investigate even our own. Especially our own, one might say. And while that’s happening, it isn’t a good idea for you to be on committees and what-not. Makes it look like we’re not taking this seriously.”

Harry nodded slowly. His throat was closing and his ear buzzing. Diggory’s voice was coming to him from very far away. He felt quite light headed and almost as if he was watching all of this take place from the ceiling rather than with his own eyes. Needing to confirm what he was hearing, “So I have been suspended?”

His voice came out hoarse and strange.

“Pending the results of the initial enquiry.” Diggory gave him a sympathetic look and clasped him on the shoulder. “Look, Potter, I know you’re a good sort and you did what you could for Cedric back when. I won’t forget that. But the Ministry feels that it might be as well for you to take a few days while we sort through all the mad accusations, what? Most likely it will all come to nothing very quickly and you can get back to normal. In the meantime, it’s a good chance for you to visit your wife. See the youngsters and all that.”

“Excellent idea, Minister,” Harry managed. “I think I’ll do just that.”

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
“As far as I can see,” Sirius said, “your only remaining option is to do as Blaise suggested and flee.”

To hear Sirius, reckless Sirius of all people speak of running away!

“Do you not think that if I went back to Godric’s Hollow…”

But Sirius was shaking his head. “I think we are beyond that now. If Blaise is right then Lucius has all he needs.”

“To destroy me.” Harry reached again for the Firewhisky – another new development. His thirsts were growing ever-deeper.

“Could Ginny be convinced to travel for a while?”

“Perhaps.” It occurred to Harry, not for the first time, that he barely knew anything about his wife’s state of mind these days. “She is I think much improved, fully recovered from Lily’s difficult birth.”

“That might be worth considering.” Sirius had been fidgeting for several minutes on the other side of the room.

Harry eyed him for a moment before saying, “Out with it.”

Sirius snorted. “Of course I could hide nothing from you.” He hesitated. “I have – that is to say, the Black family has – a villa on Lake Garda, near Verona. It would seem precipitous, perhaps, but not suspicious if we were to remove ourselves there.”

“We?”

Sirius nodded. He looked so tired, Harry registered. Perhaps this had been weighing on him every bit as heavily as it had been on Harry himself.

He had failed to consider what a burden this would be on the man who had first-hand experience of the prison to which Harry might find himself condemned. Every time Harry thought he had reached the depths of self-loathing, he discovered a new way in which he had let down someone dear to him.

“I would like to be able to live with Remus,” Sirius said. “Teddy is grown up now. The villa is big enough for all of us. It sits by the lakeside, with a view across the clearest water you’ve ever seen. On a clear day you can see all the way to the Dolomites on the northern shore. It is temperate and charming. It would be a nice place for the children, Harry.”

Harry let himself close his eyes and imagine it for a moment: a villa by the water. His children nearby. “I wonder how long it would take me to learn Italian.”

“Not long at all,” Sirius promised in his rash way.

“Not long at all,” Harry repeated, thinking of something quite different.

“Should I make the arrangements?” Sirius asked eagerly.

Harry opened his eyes and smiled at Sirius as best he could. “I think you should speak to Remus. I think if this is your chance you should catch hold of it with both hands.”

“Like the golden snitch?” Sirius clasped Harry’s shoulder in the same fatherly gesture people kept making to him. Perhaps he seemed increasingly in need of propping up.

“Like the golden snitch.”

Sirius peered at him, his quiet demeanour not fooling his godfather at all. “What about you?”

Sirius had a plan. Blaise had a plan. Harry had never really been much of a planner at all.

“I will speak to Ginny,” he said at last.

Sirius’s shoulders slumped in relief.

Harry chewed his quill as he had in school. There was so much to say, it was hard to know where to begin.

 _I have been a fool_ seemed like a good place to begin.

 _You were right. We need a fresh start._ Harry had never been good at dressing up what he wanted to say, not really. He had to hope that direct would be good enough.

_I have been considering Italy. If I ask you now, will you come with me?_

_I still need you. I never stopped._

Sirius kept an owl named Marble, and it was to him Harry took his letter. I have been a fool, he had written, but the truth was he was still a fool. He could not control fate, or the law, or Lucius Malfoy, or even, apparently, himself.

“Take this to Draco Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Wait for an answer.” Marble always looked serious by virtue of being a long-eared owl but he looked exceptionally so now as he hooted softly and spread his wings.

Because Harry knew now how he felt. If Lucius was going to win anyway then maybe, just maybe Harry could have what he wanted.

****

Marble did not come back that night. Harry imagined Draco reading it. Maybe he needed time to think. Maybe he had no interest in Harry any more, had already moved on. Harry had no way of knowing.

He was almost ashamed of having sent the letter at all. Sirius had a good plan and if Harry were sensible, he would write to Ginny, convince her the break would be good for all of them and thank his lucky stars.

But it would be a betrayal of everything he had learned about himself.

He couldn’t imagine how Sirius would react if Draco _did_ decide to come – it was unlikely to be favourable. But since all of this was a fantasy anyway, Harry imagined the two of them getting to know one another and coming to some kind of détente. Draco had liked Remus that year he’d taught at Hogwarts, Harry thought he remembered some mention of it or other during their time together. There would be that, at least.

When the bell rang, Harry’s heart lurched – was it the Aurors, already? Diggory had told him it would take a few days to look into the charges.

Kreacher’s muttering filled the hallway and Harry opened the door to the parlour a crack so he could see into the hallway.

Goyle stood at the entryway to the house. “I am here to see Harry Potter,” he boomed.

Harry frowned. He was stepping forward even before Kreacher had formally announced his guest. "Kreacher, that will be all. Goyle, what are you doing here?"

"Master Draco sent me," Goyle said as Kreacher muttered his way back to the kitchens. "I’ve got your owl, just let him go a minute ago. He says not to send him owls, it draws too much attention."

There was his answer, then.

“I see. Is that the only word he sent?” Harry asked, heart in his mouth.

“No.” Goyle reached out a meaty paw which clutched a piece of paper. Harry took it mutely. It was a letter, in Draco's hand.

The words blurred before Harry’s eyes. _I cannot call upon you now,_ Draco had written, _nor ever hope to see you again. Go now, before my father destroys you as he has destroyed so much before. You could kill the Dark Lord with a wand and a spell, but you cannot change all of society with a method as painless as a single murder._

Harry crumpled the letter in his hands. “Why did he send you?”

“Wanted to make sure it got here without interference,” Goyle replied. “He knows I do what he tells me.”

Harry was all at once exhausted just from standing. “Quite right. Best you go now. Thank you, Goyle.”

Goyle nodded and let himself out.

“Right then,” Harry said quietly.

~o0O0o~

  
  
He was still sitting by the door three hours later when Dawlish arrived with a few other Aurors in tow. They all looked sad and serious. None were faces he knew well; they’d been carefully chosen.

“Mr Potter? We’d like to speak with you down at the Ministry,” Dawlish said.

Harry had never liked him. He hated that this man was here for this, that he’d been quicker than Sirius’s attempts to save them both.

For a moment he remembered Dumbledore telling Fudge, _I am not going to come quietly at all_ and he thought for a mad moment about fighting them all and disappearing.

The impulse passed. The difference here was that Harry was guilty.

Instead, Harry nodded. “I rather thought you might.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I missed a couple of posting dates. My apologies. The ups and downs of lockdown hit me with a really big down. But I'm back and posting is almost complete! Hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter.

No one quite knew what to do with Harry after they arrested him. There were holding cells in the Ministry, of course, but given the sheer interest there would inevitably be in this case Dawlish reckoned they were not secure enough and was making some alternative arrangement. Harry was left there meanwhile and could almost feel the anxiety of the DMLE representatives who fluttered in and out of the room.

Then, at last, Ron was there. His face flushed red as his hair, his expression incredulous, his Auror robes wrinkled though well-kept. His face looked as though he had been awake every bit as long as Harry.

“Mate,” Ron tried, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and tried again. “Mate. What…” He trailed off. There was a drained bewilderment in his voice.

“Ron,” Harry said but that was all he could manage.

For a long moment both men slipped into silence. Then Ron said, “I don’t know what in blazes is going on and the way I see it, I can find that out later. What do you need right now?”

“Ron,” Harry said again, nonsensically. Here he was, his best friend, solid as rock since they were eleven years old. “Ron, Listen. I need to tell you—"

“No!” Ron burst out. “Not now. Because if you tell me I’ll have to get angry with you and if I do that I won’t be able to help you so tell me what you need now and the inexpressibles will have to wait.”

“Right,” Harry said, uncertainly. “Right.” He forced himself to focus. “Tell Sirius I’m here but he should stick to his plan. I don’t want him risking anything to help me. Make sure he goes, as he said he would.”

Ron frowned. “I will.”

Harry nodded sharply and moved to the next item on his mental list. “Ginny,” he said to himself. “What do I say to Ginny?” Even thinking about it made him flinch.

“Don’t worry about the people out there,” Ron said. “Not yet, anyway. Worry about you.”

Harry nodded. “I’m going to need an advocate.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Ron said. “Hermione.”

“Hermione?” He was right, it would have been obvious but for the distance that had grown between the two of them. “Ron, I know she’s the cleverest person we know but surely someone with more experience in the field—”

“Do you want someone who’ll be on your side no matter what happens? Someone who has read every book on every subject, who will know all your rights and all the legal precedents and fight dirty for you if she has to? Because I can’t think of anyone better.”

 _If_ she’d help.

Harry swallowed; he was doing her a disservice and he knew it. Hermione would never turn her back on anyone who needed her, especially not him, after everything they had been through in the war.

“I don’t know how much trouble I’m in yet,” Harry said quietly. “Are you sure that you want to put you and your wife at the centre of it?”

Ron squeezed Harry’s shoulder. Solid as a rock, the best friend he’d ever had. “We never wanted to be anywhere else, mate. How did you forget?”

~o0O0o~

  
  
Harry sat for what felt like hours in that sterile cell. There were bars and wards everywhere, and everything was painted grey. Harry tried not to think of Sirius in Azkaban or his experiences with Dementors in the past. He instead thought of a shining silver stag and wondered what memory could bring such a creature to him now.

When Hermione arrived she took one look at him and burst out, “Oh _Harry_ ,” before erupting into tears. She pulled him into a fierce hug and Harry relaxed into her strong arms around him, his face full of her bushy hair and slightly damp from her tears or maybe even some of his own.

“I’m sorry,” he managed. “Hermione, I’m so, so sorry.”

Hermione held him until she managed to stop weeping, then she took a seat. “Before you say anything,” she began, “I’m going to need to cast a few spells to ensure the Aurors aren’t listening.”

“Isn’t that against the law?” Harry asked as Hermione made circular motions with her wand, muttering to herself.

“Ye-es,” was all she said and Harry kicked himself for being naïve yet again.

When Hermione was finally satisfied, she nodded to Harry. “Ron went to see Sirius, who immediately threatened to charge down here but I think Ron talked him out of it. I don’t know if he convinced Sirius to stick to whatever plan you two agreed, though.”

“Thank you. If I can, I’ll write to him.” Harry fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt.

“Now, will you tell me?”

Harry looked at Hermione, wondering how much of his feelings were showing in his eyes. “Did they tell you the charge?”

“They’re debating, but it will be either gross indecency… or sodomy.”

The word hovered between them.

“It’s true, isn’t it,” she said, looking away from him – not from shame but to spare him, he could tell. “That’s why you were so sure there was a love spell involved and why you found it hard to walk away from.”

Harry had to take a moment to ready himself, his breaths growing longer in an attempt to calm himself until he finally said, “It is true.”

Hermione just nodded; she had known. He wondered if she had put the pieces together before now, since she had taken it so calmly. Her knowing presence was every bit as familiar and comforting as Ron’s stoicism had been.

“I think,” she said, “you had better tell me all of it.”

So Harry did, starting with his confusion and desire, through his affair, his certainty that it was love, of a kind stronger and more passionate than any he had known before. The great love of his life, he told her bitterly. “I found that I could not control myself around him – and most times, I did not even care to. I felt free letting all the cares of the world float away.”

Hermione, for once, did not interrupt not even to pass judgement. So he told her the rest: Lucius. Kirke. Percy’s dismissal, Blaise’s memory. He omitted only Sirius’s true relationship with Remus which was neither pertinent nor his story to tell.

“I see,” Hermione said when he was finished. “I understand, Harry.”

Harry almost welled up when she said it. It was the certainty of a friend who knew exactly what he was capable of and what he was not – and to whom he was still the same person despite all the revelations of the hour.

“I don’t deserve you,” he blurted out. “Not you, not Ron. Definitely not Ginny.”

“Poor Ginny. I presume she knows none of this?”

“She saw Draco in the suite once, in the morning. I think she suspected, but she didn’t say anything.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” It was the same certainty she’d used when talking about him. “Say anything, I mean. She blames herself for the two of you being estranged.”

“I did that to her.”

“Yes, you did, Harry,” Hermione said, her tone firm though not accusatory. “None of this will be without cost.”

Harry fidgeted again. “She has to know, about this.”

“I’ll tell her as soon as you’re formally charged,” Hermione promised. “I can pass on any message you want.”

“Thank you.” There wasn’t really much else to say except to ask, “So will you be my advocate?”

“Of course I will, Harry. But if all of this is true, I don’t know what chance you have at trial.”

“Lucius won’t let Draco condemn himself in court. I don’t know what they might have outside that.”

“Assaulting a blackmailer isn’t going to look great if they found him. Do you think they might have?”

“Draco knows about him.” The rest remained unsaid.

“Right,” Hermione said, clearing her throat. “Then we’re just going to have to prepare the best defence we can. Remind everyone of who you are and what you’ve done for all of us. Meanwhile I’ll look into legal statutes, magical and Muggle, and see if there’s any kind of loophole that might get you out of this.”

“It’s not going to be easy, is it? Given that I’m guilty as sin.”

“Did it seem like a crime? To you?”

“No,” Harry said, pulling off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ward off a headache. “I mean – I knew it was adultery and wrong. But it seemed like the furthest thing from a crime. When I was with him, it was beautiful.”

And I will never see him again, Harry remembered in a rush and the force of it almost knocked him from his chair.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
A compromise of sorts was reached. Harry would await trial not in the Auror holding cells or Azkaban – which Hermione had argued fervently against for a slew of reasons, not least that some of the Dark Wizards Harry had helped put there during the war still lived. Instead he would be kept in a private cell of a Muggle prison. His wand had already been taken from him and he was to be denied access to magical objects of all kinds. He would be guarded by Hit Wizards, just in case he tried to escape.

If he’d meant to escape he would have done it instead of walking into the DMLE that day, not after. Still, the squalor of the cell made him regret his decision. It had seemed like the right thing to do – to face his choices and answer for them, but that did not make the rotten food more palatable or the stone floor softer.

His guards were named Fawley and Smith. Neither of them seemed to know how to talk to him. He’d tried to make conversation before but Fawley was awestruck by the Great War Hero and Smith seemed unable to reconcile the charges with the history he knew.

He’d asked Fawley if there was any chance of a blanket, and been met with a polite, reluctant negative. “I’m sorry Mr Potter, sir, but we have strict instructions that you are not to receive anything in your cell except for food. Ministry orders.”

But who at the Ministry? Harry thought to himself sardonically. He knew.

This compromise on the imprisonment was, in Hermione’s opinion, good news.

“It means they are prepared to make some exceptions for you, which we can definitely use to advantage,” she explained to Harry on one of their regular meetings. Harry would be taken from his cell to another, where he spoke with Hermione across a table. His cell was often in disarray when he returned having been either searched or cleaned, he wasn’t sure which.

It also meant that the trial was likely to be arranged quickly, to avoid having to draw out this unusual arrangement. “So you shouldn’t have to be here too long.”

That, combined with the formal charge, made three pieces of good news. Dawlish had gone for a charge of gross indecency rather than sodomy.

“It’s a lesser charge,” Hermione explained. “So it’s both easier to prove, which they like, and comes with a more lenient sentencing.”

Harry asked her, as he always did, “How is Ginny?”

“Still working through her feelings,” Hermione always replied. “Give her time, Harry.”

The night before the trial was due to start, Harry was lying awake on the stone floor with only the sounds of Smith’s snoring for company. He and Fawley took turns sleeping, and both had brought books. This must have been the most boring assignment either of them had ever had; Smith had been grumbling about it while Fawley slept. “Three years’ training to babysit a willy woofter?”

Harry was staring at the ceiling, to take a break from his usual occupation of staring at the walls. He had expected prison to be many things but even more dull than committee meetings had somehow failed to make the list.

A sound outside the cell made Harry’s head turn. Fawley had heard it too, whatever it was, as he stood at once. “Show yourself!” he said sharply, his wand out.

“It’s Auror Weasley,” came a familiar voice. Harry laughed his relief; he had wondered if an old enemy would take this opportunity to take him out permanently or, worse, if some misguided former DA members would try to break him out, making everything worse.

He’d had a lot of time to daydream, and Draco only appeared in every other one.

“Auror Weasley, you’re not supposed to be here.”

Ron emerged from the shadows to where Harry could see him through the bars. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. Just… he’s my best friend. And I know I can’t see him but I brought his dog.”

“His dog?” Fawley repeated. “I was unaware that Harry Potter had a dog.”

Harry had rather forgotten himself, but when he looked towards Ron’s feet he saw a familiar, hulking black shape. “Padfoot?”

Padfoot whined and tugged at the lead Ron had on him, presumably for show.

“You can search him if you want,” Ron was saying. “I promise, I’m not trying to slip him anything. I just thought seeing his dog would cheer Harry up. If things go a certain way,” Ron looked significantly at Harry, “it gives them a chance to say goodbye.”

It never would have worked on Smith, but Fawley sighed and put his wand away. “All right, he can see the dog. But you need to stay back there.”

“I can do that,” Ron said, smiling. He winked at Harry and let Padfoot off his lead.

Harry reached through the bars and Padfoot ran across to greet him, licking his hand and letting Harry pet him and hold him close.

“I’m sorry I let you down,” he whispered into Sirius’s ear.

Padfoot whined and looked at him reproachfully. Harry knew what Sirius wanted to say: they should have gone sooner. They could have been happy.

“I know. I know, boy,” he said, for Fawley’s benefit. “I miss you too. But you’ll be somewhere beautiful where people will look after you. And I want you to be there, do you understand?”

Padfoot butted Harry’s hand with the top of his head, begging for more pets.

“Do you understand?” Harry repeated softly.

Padfoot squirmed a little before whining his acceptance.

“Good,” Harry said, relieved. “Good boy. I’ll miss you.”

Fawley had been watching this interaction and said, with a kindly tone, “I think that’s enough time, Lord Potter.”

“That’s not my title, Fawley,” Harry reminded him. He gave Padfoot’s head one last gently pat and pulled his hands back through the bars. “But thank you. And thank you, Ron.”

Padfoot whined a little but returned to Ron’s side like the dutiful dog Fawley expected to see.

“Any time, mate,” Ron said, giving him a soft smile. He nodded at Fawley, flicked his gaze over the still-snoring Smith and quietly retreated down the corridor.

Harry managed to sleep a little that night despite himself. Ron was still his friend, and Sirius would be safe. That was plenty to be grateful for.

  
  


~o0O0o~

  
  
Harry had never seen a courtroom as full as it was on the day his trial began. The entire Wizengamot had assembled to hear his case. Ernie met his gaze, a troubled expression on his face. Rosier looked less smug than Harry would have expected, but perhaps the man just had exceptional control of his expressions.

He had been given his first opportunity to bathe in several days, and brought fresh clothes by Dobby, who sobbed as he tried to help Harry dress. It had not been the most fortifying of starts to the day.

The public gallery was full. Most were familiar faces who smiled at Harry, or did their best approximation. Neville Longbottom had come from Hogwarts, Dean Thomas was there with Seamus Finnegan, Luna Scamander gave him a little wave. He was touched and smiled. He already knew that Ron could not be there because it would be seen as a conflict of interest. He knew deep in his bones that Ginny would not be there either, but he’d still hoped. The only representatives of the Weasleys were Bill and Fleur; the French had quite different attitudes to cases like his than the English and perhaps that had been enough reason to make a show of support. He assumed the others were either going about their business or, he hoped, taking care of Ginny and the children.

Lucius Malfoy sat in the procurator’s chair. Harry never looked directly at him, but could see the fine quality of his robes and the relaxed posture of his body. The man was most likely excited by all of this.

“All rise for the Minister of Magic,” one of the clerks called, and the court crowd obliged. Diggory met Harry’s eyes with a sad smile as he took his chair.

“Be seated. Lord Malfoy, you are here to act as prosecutor in the case against Harry Potter, is that correct?”

“That is correct, Minister.”

At once the courtroom filled with the sound of hissing from the crowd.

“Order, please,” Diggory said, his tone resigned. “Mrs Weasley, you are here to act as advocate for the accused?”

“That is correct, Minister.”

“If I may, Minister,” Lucius interjected, rising from his chair again. “Is Mrs Weasley an authority on law?”

Hermione didn’t even look at him. “Minister, my understanding was that it is the accused’s right to choose their advocate. Is it not so?”

“That is so, Mrs Weasley. Mr Potter, are you happy for Mrs Weasley to act for you in this matter?”

“Despite her lack of experience,” Malfoy added smoothly. The crowd hissed again.

“Order! Lord Malfoy, members of the public, please. Mr Potter?”

Harry rose. “I have complete faith in Hermione in all things.”

A small cheer went up. It really was going to be a circus, Harry reflected. The show of support warmed him but how long could it conceivably last?

“Thank you, Mr Potter,” Diggory said. “Now, Mrs Weasley, on the charge of gross indecency, would the accused like to enter a plea?”

They had talked about it, Harry and Hermione, and there was only one answer which would afford them the opportunity to make their case. “Not guilty, Minister.”

Another cheer, another call for order from Diggory. Harry sank down in his chair. It was going to be a long trial.

Lucius got to make his opening remarks first. He stood slowly, his catlike grace reminding Harry of Draco so strongly that he had to close his eyes against it for a moment. “Wizards and witches of the Wizengamot,” he began. “The case I will make here today is quite simple. Harry Potter solicited other young men into acts of gross indecency. Some may say this is wildly out of character for a man so renowned for his heroics and indeed, it may at first appear so. But Harry Potter used his fame and the rumours of his abilities to both encourage and even extort indecencies, as you will hear from our witnesses.

“You will hear of a man who left his wife and children in the country to live a bachelor life in London. You will hear of a man who sought out the lowest of the low in order to debase himself. You will hear tell of acts which will shock you all the more _because_ of Harry Potter’s reputation. I ask only that you hear the evidence. For you will not appreciate the strength of the case until you hear this evidence. The facts can and will be corroborated. Harry Potter is a predator. Thank you.”

Harry forced himself not to react as his character was thoroughly reviled and misrepresented. He could not stop an angry, shamed flush from staining his cheeks, but he did not raise his head once. The crowd did it for him, calling out their objections to Lucius’s words until Diggory gave up and cast a silencing charm on the gallery so that the Wizengamot could hear what he was saying. Harry wondered what would happen if a mistrial was declared. Would that be the end of it or would he be back here in a month?

Now it was Hermione’s turn. “Harry Potter is well-known and liked in the wizarding world,” she began. “He is known to be kind and thoughtful. He is known to take the time to be kind to those beneath others’ notice and to be an exceptionally loyal friend. And he is rightfully known as the greatest hero of our generation. He sacrificed himself and his own desires over and over again to save us all from the Dark Lord. He was slandered during this dark time, a time when Voldemort was on the rise. I will prove the allegations that he is a predator untrue, just as the assertions that lied about Voldemort were proven to be untrue.”

With that she inclined her head and retook her seat.

The silenced crowd were applauding her – Harry could see their hands moving. He met her gaze and smiled, relief breaking over his face. Perhaps there would be a way through this after all.

~o0O0o~

  
  
“We call our first witness, Mr Edgar Simpson.”

Who? Harry looked in confusion at Hermione. Perhaps the case would turn out to be a complete fabrication after all.

But no, when the man arrived in the courtroom, Harry recognised him from the Great Western Royal Hotel. This could not be good.

“I beg the court’s indulgence, as this man is a Muggle I will keep the questioning short in order to keep the obliviator’s work to a minimum.”

“Good day sir,” Simpson was saying. “This is quite a set up.”

“Mr Simpson, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“So help me God, yes sir.” The man straightened. He appeared to at least recognise that he was in court.

“Mr Simpson, do you recognise the man sitting there?” Lucius pointed at Harry.

“Yessir, he was a long-term guest at the hotel at which I am employed.”

“The Great Western Royal Hotel?”

“Yessir.”

“What manner of guest was Mr Potter?”

“He was polite and tidy. Dressed a little oddly, obviously an eccentric like you gentlemen here, but never caused trouble.”

“Did he occupy the rooms alone?”

What was Lucius _doing_?

“For the most part, sir, though he had visitors.”

“Can you describe the nature of these visitors?”

It went on in this vein for some time: Simpson initially demurred on the grounds that the hotel had a reputation for discretion, but he testified that several young men had come in and out of the hotel and at least one had shared breakfast with Mr Potter. On one occasion three young men had come in together and gone to the suite, apparently.

Draco’s rentboys, Harry thought, sickened. In their place. In their home. And it all pointed to Harry being the one frequenting them.

“No further questions at this time.”

Hermione asked questions about the rooms, Harry’s treatment of the staff and some other banalities.

“That was it?” Harry whispered when she was done.

“Everything he said is circumstantial,” she whispered back.

The next witness was a chambermaid from the same hotel, Neta Kelso.

“You routinely cleaned the suite in which Mr Potter resided?”

“Yessir.”

“Can you describe the morning of 11th February?”

“Yessir. I knocked on the door and entered at the usual time. There was someone in the bed. It was not Mr Potter as the hair was blond not dark. I thought at first it was a young lady but when the person looked at me, I saw it was a young man. Mr Potter then emerged from the water closet and asked me to come back another time.”

“A man in the bed, you say?”

“Yessir.”

“Were there any other strange things you noted while you worked in this suite?”

“Pardon me, sir, but… Sometimes the bedsheets were stained in peculiar ways and it became necessary for me to call the attention of the laundress to the matter.”

Hermione countered with questions about the number of beds and places to sleep in the suite, the possibility of a friend drinking too much to get home, and whether the girl had ever seen “improprieties” with her own eyes; she had not.

Diggory closed proceedings for the day after that; Hermione sat with Harry a moment while his guards were called for to transport him back to his cell. “That wasn’t a bad first day,” Hermione mused. “It’s suggestive but that’s all. Nothing there to really damage you in the eyes of the Wizengamot.”

“Do you think it will all be like this? Whispers and stray observations?”

Her eyes narrowed, as the clockwork in her brain considered. “I imagine he is going somewhere with this, to be certain. But I cannot see how he intends to accuse you and leave Draco out of it.”

“I suppose we will see,” Harry said, already wondering what fresh hell tomorrow would bring.

“We call Argus Filch.”

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm as the dirty, dishevelled owner of the brothel where he’d had his first same-sex experience shambled in and vowed to tell only the truth.

“Mr Filch, it is true is it not that you are a Squib?”

Filch blustered but it was clear the answer was yes.

“How do you make a living?”

“I rent rooms in London to young wizards looking for work.”

“How many young men would you say rent rooms from you?”

“Between six and ten on average. Depends on the season.”

“And what employment do they usually undertake?”

Filch squirmed. “Different types. Valets. Groomsmen. That sort of thing.”

Lucius nodded, mock-believing him.

At this point Hermione stood. “Minister, I object. What is the relevance here?”

“I am coming to the point shortly. Mr Filch, are you acquainted with Mr Potter, the accused?”

Filch continued to squirm. He could not possibly look guiltier, Harry thought. “I think he visited the rooms. Maybe to see about renting one.”

“Ah, yes, Mr Potter, the wizarding hero and the heir to two fortunes looked into renting a room for the lower classes. That seems likely. Try again, Mr Filch?”

Filch’s mouth opened and closed rapidly.

“Answer the question, Mr Filch,” Diggory said.

Filch said nothing.

“Minister, I move that the witness be regarded as hostile and be given _Veritaserum_.”

“No!” Filch cried at once. “No, not that!”

Hermione again stood. “Minister, I still don’t see the relevance of this witness testimony.”

Diggory sighed. “Lord Malfoy, is there a point?”

Lucius kept his face straight though Harry could feel a smirk emanating from him. “Minister, in light of this witness’s refusal to answer questions, I ask that he be recalled under _Veritaserum_ following the next witness.”

“Mrs Weasley, any objection?”

“Relevance. Again,” Hermione said flatly.

Harry winced. This kind of thing tended to make people respond badly to Hermione. He loved her and believed in her but he’d forgotten the way her know-it-all attitude could appear to others.

“I suggest a compromise, Mrs Weasley,” Lucius said. “If after the next witness you still see no relevance in Mr Filch’s testimony, object again and let us ask the Minister to rule at that point.”

“Seems reasonable to me,” Diggory said before Hermione could reply. “Bailiffs, take Mr Filch back to the waiting room and bring in…”

“The next witness is Philip Kirke, who I now call to testify.”

Harry had been half-expecting, half-dreading this. But it was inevitable.

This was going to be bad.

“Mr Kirke, how do you know Argus Filch?”

“Three years ago, I had been employed as a valet but was out of work and as my family is poor, I had few options. I met Mr Filch in a bar by Piccadilly and got into conversation with him. When I mentioned I was unemployed, Mr Filch suggested there were easy ways to make money if one cared to, and that there were men who were happy to pay for a younger man’s company. I understood his meaning.”

“And how did you respond?”

“I made a coarse reply, but I was agreeable. I was terribly hard up.”

“So you went to live at what Filch has described as a boarding house?”

“It is a bawdy house,” Kirke said levelly. Several Wizengamot members inhaled sharply in shock.

“And it was there you met Mr Potter?”

“Objection – leading the witness!”

“My apologies, madam. Mr Kirke,” Lucius said, exaggerating his tone, “did you ever see Mr Potter there?”

“Yes sir. He came to the house and I serviced him.”

“Can you tell us in what way?”

“Not delicately, sir.”

This was Harry’s nightmare come to life.

“Did he visit more than once?”

“Yes sir. On one occasion he bid five of us go to a room with him.”

More gasps. More half-truths. No way to tell the truth without bringing Draco into it, which would not save Harry.

Hermione had written a note to Harry on the desk before them. It was simply three question marks together.

“On one occasion sir, he struck me.”

That was true, too. And it was also true that he had not considered that Kirke might not like what he was doing, did it instead of starving. Harry had been jealous of him – for what?

“Your witness.”

Hermione stood up slowly. At least Harry had told her enough that she knew about the blackmail attempt.

“Mr Kirke,” she said calmly. “Is it true that you once attempted to extort money from Mr Potter?”

“I requested a reward for the return of a letter written in his own hand alluding to acts such as we have discussed, that much is true.”

“I see. And was this letter addressed to you?”

Kirke hesitated. “No. It turned up at the house; I assume he left it there but I do not know who for.”

Half-truth again.

“So you offered to sell it back to him?”

“I suppose you could look at it like that,” Kirke said sulkily.

“Did anyone else see the letter at the house?”

“No, I kept it to myself.”

“So you could use it for extortion?”

“Yes – no!”

“Indeed. So you approached Mr Potter with this letter and that was when he struck you?”

“No, he took out his wand.”

“Oh so he cursed you? How?”

“He…” Kirke trailed off. “He duelled me. He is far stronger than I. If I were a better wizard, I would hardly be in my line of work.”

Hermione ignored that. “So you tried to extort money from Mr Potter over a letter you obtained who-knows where, which might have included anything, as you no longer have the letter, and you offer this as proof of some kind of liaison?”

Harry breathed again; Hermione had very neatly cast doubt on everything Kirke had said.

“It’s all true!” Kirke snapped. “I’ll take _Veritaserum_ if that will prove it to you. He treats people like we’re nothing because he thinks he’s better than us. I never solicited a man! He came to me!”

“That’s quite enough, Mr Kirke,” Diggory snapped across the room. “Unless you have more questions Mrs Weasley – no? — Mr Kirke, you are excused.”

Lucius jumped to his feet. “Minister, I beg you to now recall Mr Filch, who can verify Mr Potter’s presence at his… establishment.”

“I object!” Hermione said at once. “Mr Filch offered nothing of substance before and Mr Kirke’s testimony is clearly motivated by revenge against Harry… that is, the accused, for standing up to an attempt at blackmail!”

“And if not this then what could the blackmail attempt have been about, madam?” Lucius demanded. “Should we not know for certain, if only to clear the accused once and for all?”

“This is a fishing expedition, pure and simple. Minister, I object to the recall of Mr Filch and ask that unless Lord Malfoy has something substantive, we move on.”

Diggory sighed deeply. “I am inclined to agree, Mrs Weasley. Lucius, this story is all rather fantastic and there has been no evidence of any kind put forward beyond contradictory testimony. From the list you submitted, I know you have no other witnesses to call. The evidence is simply not strong enough.”

“Minister, if—”

“Filch is done,” Diggory said flatly. “What else have you?”

Lucius’s face twisted and he looked at Harry with pure hatred in his eyes. “Very well,” he spat. “Very well. I would like to enter this into evidence.”

He lifted a phial full of silvery liquid to the eyeline of the Wizengamot. A memory.

“This is most irregular,” Hermione pointed out.

“It is proof positive of Mr Potter’s nature, and I ask that the court see it. I had hoped to avoid this as it will hurt someone dear to me, but I see now that without it, no action can be taken.”

Harry stared at the memory, thinking of what Blaise had shown him. What could the memory be? Had Lucius seen something damning? Would he really involve his son, if the whole point of this trial had been to “save” him from Harry.

“I object, on the basis that this memory is not the best evidence – testimony would be preferable in this instance.”

“That is not possible,” Lucius said, tone brooking no opposition.

“Overruled, Mrs Weasley. Let’s see this memory and get it over with.”

“I except, on the grounds of the best evidence rule.”

“So noted. Bailiffs, bring the Pensieve through.”

While they waited, Harry whispered to Hermione, “What does ‘except’ mean?”

“It means I can use the overruling of that objection as the basis for an appeal, if it comes to that.”

“You nearly got the whole case thrown out. I’m so glad you’re still my friend.”

Hermione turned to him, startled. “Harry, of course I am. I might not agree with everything you’ve done and I might think some of this trouble is your own fault but that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to help you.”

Harry huffed a laugh, his first in several days. “Same old Hermione.”

Their conversation was halted by the arrival of the Pensieve. It was a larger version, intended to show the memory to the entire courtroom; Hermione muttered something about the spells on it as it was wheeled into place.

“Are you ready, Lord Malfoy?”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Do you wish to speak at all, to provide context?”

“I think it unnecessary. _Res ipsa loquitur_.”

The thing speaks for itself.

More afraid than he had been at any previous point in the trial, Harry clenched his fists as Lucius poured the silvery mist into the Pensieve and Harry found himself inside someone else’s memory.

He knew this place. It was Scotland, the billiard room in that spa hotel. Draco was rolling a white ball across the table, catching it and returning it. Agitation was writ large across his body language.

Harry watched himself enter the room in his coloured clothes. "What exactly was that about, Malfoy?" His voice sounded harsh in a way he hadn’t meant to make it at the time.  
  
Draco’s face looked pained. "You interrupt an evening with my friends…"  
  
"I was invited."  
  
"I don't know what you want," Draco said. "You… I don't know what you want."

Harry in the present had to swallow bile. This was Draco’s own memory. Lucius was right, it offered proof positive that all the allegations were true; he knew what was coming and knew how it was going to make him look. And worst of all, in order for this to be included in the trial, Draco must have given it to his father. The thing did indeed speak for itself.  
  
"I want you," the memory of him said to the gasps of those assembled in the court. Harry let his eyes close so he couldn’t see his own face, so full of emotion, or Draco’s tensed body, the lines of which could be terribly misconstrued.

"I want you. I want you to touch me. I'm so tired of denying it, Draco. You're beautiful. I always saw that but I didn't understand why it disturbed me so much.”  
  
"And how am I supposed to react to this tender confession?"   
  
Harry remembered the way he’d crossed the room, the way Draco’s body had felt beneath his fingertips. There was no denying it now.  
  
Draco whispered, "No," and the memory ended, cutting off all that had followed.

All the tenderness they had shared, all the ways Draco had seduced him, reduced to this: Harry acting the predator Lucius had described and Draco refusing him.

There was a momentary pause before the courtroom descended into uproar. Lucius was roaring about an attempt to defile even his very son, the crowd, somehow no longer silenced, was shouting _shame_ and a range of slurs. Diggory was shouting, trying to restore order and Hermione was looking down at Harry in horror.

He looked up at her, tears forming in his eyes. “I know, Mione. You can’t help me now.”

No one could.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end. Thank you so much to all who've been reading along.

The court was in such an uproar that Diggory had to clear it so proceedings ended for the day. Harry was dragged back to his cell all but catatonic in his shock, but somewhere between the courtroom and his cell the rage and pain hit and he began to roar without meaning to, lashing out in all directions as the weight of the day landed on him all at once.

Fawley tried to reason with him but Smith simply stunned him – and who could blame him for that course of action? When he came to, he was chained to the floor. The chains had been there since his first day in the cell but this was the first time he had actually been bound in them. He wondered if it was because of the outburst or just because they _knew_ now. The whole world would know and Harry’s name would become a curse.

Harry slept badly that night, as he had for so many nights. When he did manage to sleep, he dreamed of Draco’s memory, displayed for the world to see and judge. He heard Lucius’s voice, remembered Blaise’s warning. Some times he relived bits and pieces of pleasure-filled memory but it always ended when he recalled the expression on his wife’s face that day in the hotel suite.

He had been awake but in a kind of trance, deep inside his own thoughts and pain when the call came: "Potter! You've a visitor."

And it was Ginny. The woman he had pledged his life to **,** then set aside in pursuit of his desire. His love may have changed over the years but he could not deny that he had owed her his duty and had failed her.

He should have known Draco would be his destruction. Perhaps he had known, just been reluctant to believe it even though _everyone_ had warned him.

So when Ginny told him the price of seeing his children — "You must never, ever see Draco Malfoy again" — Harry thought of how many times over the last year he had told himself that same thing and how impossible it had felt.  
  
Now, though, with shock and the loss ringing through his head, his perspective had changed. "Do you know, I think if I ever saw Draco again **,** I would kill him."

Ginny smiled at him, sadly, but her shoulders straightened a little from their slump and she reached out to him. “The children love you, Harry. They’ll always love you. And you’ll always be their father.”

Harry inhaled deeply at this, relief and hurt mingling. It was then, at last, that he laid his face on the table and began to weep while his wife, to whom he had caused so much hurt, did her best to console him.

The courtroom was quieter that morning. Harry assumed the Minister had forbidden the public to enter given the chaos of the day before.

Diggory didn’t look at Harry this time when he came in to take his seat. “Thank you. Mrs Weasley, do you have any witnesses for the defence?”

Hermione stood, confused. “Yes sir, I submitted the witness list before trial commenced as you requested.”

“None of the witnesses you listed was in a position to offer any evidence but merely act as character witnesses for Mr Potter, is that not the case?”

“Well, yes, but given the memory we were shown, I would think Draco Malfoy should be required to testify.”

Lucius immediately snapped to attention. He had gone for purple robes that day. Positively flamboyant, Harry thought. He was probably going to have a wild party that night to celebrate his victory. “Minister, I object—”

Harry shook his head. He and Hermione had been through this. It might be possible to show that Draco had been pursuer rather than victim but that would hardly clear his name. He had been in a sexual relationship with another man and it was against the law, no matter the circumstances. The most pursuing this line would achieve would be to drag Draco down with him.

Did Harry want that?

Diggory was speaking. “I’m sure you do, Lucius, but it is hardly an unreasonable point.”

“Draco is… not available,” Lucius said flatly.

Harry frowned at this even as Diggory asked, “How so?” It didn’t make sense.

“Given the trauma around his experience with Mr Potter, he has been sent out of the country for rehabilitation.”

“Entirely understandable,” Burke chipped in from his seat behind the Minister.

“Yet oddly convenient, Burke,” Diggory replied. “Lord Malfoy are you telling me that you have no way to recall your son?”

“Not at this time, Minister.”

At that Harry’s eyes flew to Lucius, who for the first time looked discomfited.

And Harry began to think.

The day before had shocked him to his very soul. He had been so ready to believe that Zabini had been right to warn him off, that Draco had turned on him out of fear of his father, perhaps, or spite, or heartbreak… Draco lashed out, certainly, but Harry knew him and his absence – that wasn’t who Draco was. If he wasn’t here to either rub Harry’s face in his indifference or try to save him, it wasn’t of his own doing.

Harry had missed something; the Wizengamot as a whole was bursting into life. Some booed, others shouted objections, a few even seemed to be in support but were largely drowned out by the others.

“Order!” Diggory snarled, the gavel hitting the bench with considerable force. “Mrs Weasley, I take your point but given the nature of what we have seen, you cannot expect me to simply throw the matter out.” He sighed, looking suddenly very old. “Does the accused wish to speak in his own defence? Perhaps addressing this memory?”

“I object to this entire discussion,” Lucius said coldly.

“Noted, and, I presume, excepted?”

Hermione stuck her chin out. “Yes sir.”

“If Draco _could_ be here I fail to see what he could tell you that would say more than that memory,” Lucius went on. “You saw with your own eyes the way Mr Potter pursued him and how my son was forced to say no to a man known for a volatile temper.”

Harry remembered Lucius dispassionately slapping Draco across the face and felt his own face burn. Lucius had tried every way he knew to grind Draco down, but he was still standing. Damaged and hurting, certainly, but not broken. Harry remembered his smile, his real smile of joy. The deliberately seductive curve of his shoulder and the honest way he shivered when Harry ran nails over his throat just so. His sobs and strops and favourite colours. His flush when jealous and the flash of disbelief in his eyes when he had first read Harry’s love token: _steadfast until death_. Harry knew Draco, the truth and the lies and the reasons.

Lucius was still talking. “If Draco was here you would expect him to relive the humiliation, would you? You would need my son to tell you all the details of how Potter’s aggression made him feel before your would believe—”

“No,” Harry said suddenly. “No, you know that’s not what he would say. Or else he would be here.”

“Harry—” Hermione blurted.

“Mr Potter—" Diggory began.

Harry only had eyes for Lucius. “Did you lock him away? Try the Imperius curse? You must have tried everything you could think of to get him to turn on me but if you’d managed it then _he would be here_.” Harry slammed his fist against the desk, rising to his feet as he did so. Sparks crackled from his fingers and all at once the courtroom was silent as it seemed to occur to everyone at last who he was and what he could do.

Harry looked around all the faces in the room. “I have made mistakes. I am not perfect. I never was. But on the day you all needed me most, I walked out to meet Voldemort and die knowing exactly what my fate would be. Then I came back, to finish what had to be done. I have done my duty all my life.

“How is this—” Lucius again but Harry cut him off.

“Relevant? Perhaps it isn’t, to you. Perhaps I needed to remind myself. I let myself become so constrained by everything you expected of me – all of you,” and he could not but help a glance to Hermione at this, “that I forgot what I owed to myself. I was fourteen when Professor Dumbledore told me ‘there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right’ and I let myself become confused about what was right. And it is simply this: I will stand here and tell you the truth. I fell in love with a man.”

The courtroom exploded with sound again – gasps and cries and a buzzing that filled Harry’s ears.

He saw triumph fill Lucius’s face.

“You don’t understand yet, Lucius. Do you?” Harry raised his voice. “Whatever you did, it has cost you your son. He will never forgive you for this, even if you were capable of remorse. Which I doubt you are. I’ve seen that arrogant look before and I know it well. I fell in love with a man and you would condemn me for it but you, you cannot love your wife or your son of anything beyond your own ambition and you feel yourself to be the more honourable man here?” Harry couldn’t help the laugh which escaped him. “Perhaps I am guilty under the law. But the law is wrong. The law should celebrate love – particularly when we wizards know so well what magicks it imbues and what cost the lack of it exacts. We see the consequences of love in our world every day. My life was saved because of my mother’s love for me, her sacrifice for me. Many of yours were saved because of my love for all of you.”

Silence again. He looked around the room; there was no one whose full attention he did not command.

“Many of you would think I chose the wrong person to love. I certainly chose a difficult person. An inconvenient person. But it was real.” This last he directed to Lucius again. “So yes, you can throw me in Azkaban. You can make sure I never see him again. But you cannot stop him from loving me – and he does. We both know he does. Or else you wouldn’t hate me so much.”

Lucius’s eyes flared at that; Harry registered the direct hit.

He sighed and turned to look at Diggory. “I don’t suppose it was much of a defence, really. But it was what I needed to say.”

“Well.” Diggory looked between Lucius and Harry. “Indeed.” He did not seem to know what to do until someone leaned over from behind him to whisper in his ear. “Yes, you’re right. This entire case has been deeply upsetting and frankly I’d like it to conclude swiftly. Let us proceed to closing statements. Lord Malfoy?”

It took Lucius a moment to recover himself.

“Thank you Minister. Now, esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I have been through the whole of this case. I have pointed out to you its strength, and I have to ask you to do your duty in regard to it. I have already spoken to that appeal which my learned friend made to the past heroism of Harry Potter. With that we have in this case nothing whatever to do. He has a right to be acquitted if you believe him to be an innocent man, be his lot high or low. But if, in your consciences you believe that he is guilty of these charges – charges, I am obligated to point out that he had admitted in his own words – well, then you have only one consideration, and that is to follow closely the obligation of the oath which has been laid upon you.”

It was a brilliant speech. Harry had to admire it.

Hermione rose. She was clearly startled by everything Harry had said. Her entire statement would have to be rewritten, no doubt. What could she say?

She cleared her throat. “Esteemed members of the Wizengamot,” she said, stalling, “I suggest to you that your duty is simple and clear. This case is in short nothing more than a collection of innuendos and entirely hinges on a memory taken from a witness who never testified – who has made no statement, nor presented himself for questioning. The defendant speaks of love, not indecency. Given his record, which Lord Malfoy dismisses as irrelevant, it behoves us to take him at his word. In making judgement, members of the Wizengamot, you are called to act not upon suspicion or prejudice, but upon an examination of the facts, and on the facts, I respectfully urge that Mr. Potter is entitled to claim from you a verdict of acquittal. Thank you.”

Diggory nodded at Hermione and looked again at Harry, who wondered if perhaps Hermione had got through to him. “Thank you, counsellors. I will ask you now to leave the courtroom while we deliberate.”

All three stood and bowed. Lucius exited on one side of the courtroom, Harry and Hermione to another followed by the ubiquitous guards.

Harry slumped into a chair as the door closed, leaving he and Hermione alone.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione had been saying that a lot lately. “I didn’t know… I should have realised…”

Harry felt as exhausted now as he could ever recall. “You did your best for me, Hermione,” he said quietly. “But I had to do my own best, too.”

A touch on his hand startled him; he looked up to see Hermione lacing her fingers through his. “I know, Harry,” she whispered, clutching his hand so tightly he would have marks from her fingertips in his knuckles. “I know you did.”

~o0O0o~

  
  
The Wizengamot deliberated for four hours. Harry and Hermione ate lunch together in the little room off the court, in silence. The food at least was considerably better than what Harry had been eating in prison, and he made a point of telling her so.

When they were finally called back through, Harry felt as though his every nerve had been shredded. Hermione looked no better.

The members of the Wizengamot were silent, all looking right at Harry. The public gallery was full again but now had additional guards to keep the peace.

“All rise,” came the call.

Diggory came in. “After several rounds of voting, we have reached a majority decision. Will the accused please rise.”

Harry stood, staring at the faces. He thought he already knew, from the way some people were smiling viciously while the majority would not meet his eyes.

“Harry Potter, you have been found guilty of gross indecency—”

Cries of “Oh!” and “Shame!” filled the air; Diggory cut them off with another silencing charm.

“But you can’t!” Hermione was saying.

Harry knew Lucius had to be in raptures. Here was his great victory come at last.

“Mrs Weasley, do not force me to silence you as well. Mr Potter, this has been a hard case for us given your standing in the community, your past services to wizardkind and your connection with several prominent families. However, it seems beyond contestation that you have made explicit solicitations to at least one young man. And while many were prepared to accept the truth of your… feelings,” he managed, the word barely making its way past the man’s throat, “we also believed that you had attended bawdy houses. Someone who could do that must be dead to all sense of shame.”

Harry found his voice. “I assure you, Minister, I am not.”

Diggory met his gaze at last and sighed. “Well and so, young Potter. We had quite the lively discussion over the relevant laws and statutes and have concluded that the appropriate punishment for you will be two years in Azkaban.”

The words hit him like a body blow. He was going there after all, to be drained of all the joy in his life, to become a husk of who he had been. The cries from the gallery grew louder until Diggory was shouting to make himself heard.

“We are all deeply distressed by this case, and we can only hope that you conduct yourself in a more appropriate manner once your sentence is complete. This trial is now adjourned.”

Harry sat. “Two years,” he whispered.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione was saying. “We’ll fight it. I will do everything I can to find grounds for an appeal and we can maybe even get Draco on the stand…”

“I don’t want that,” Harry managed. “I don’t. Just… thank you for trying to help me. But it’s over now.”

“But Harry—”

“I can’t go through this again, Hermione,” Harry said. “I can’t. Will you tell Ginny how sorry I am? And that I won’t contest the divorce if she decides she wants one.”

Mercifully Hermione didn’t say _oh Harry_ this time. She simply bit her lip and nodded, hauling him into her arms.

Fawley and Smith were standing to one side, waiting for them to finish. Harry almost wished they would tell him to stop, pull him away, so he wouldn’t have to decide for himself when the last time he would hug his friend for two years was over. But they didn’t, and eventually he had to let go.

“We have to take you through the Atrium to get to the departure point,” Fawley warned him as Smith put cuffs on his wrists. “There are going to be press there, though we’ve cleared the public as best we can.”

Harry nodded. “I suppose it was too much to hope that this might be quiet a little longer.”

“Sorry, Potter,” Fawley said, seeming to mean it.

“Don’t apologise to the bum boy,” Smith said scornfully.

Hermione’s wand was at his throat in a moment. “I suggest you treat Harry Potter with some _respect_.”

Smith was a Hit Wizard; highly trained and competent. But Hermione had been in the war. He eyed her and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I intended no disrespect.”

“I’m sure,” Hermione said, unmoved.

Harry looked away from them and up to the public gallery. It was half-empty now but some familiar faces had stayed. Bill and Fleur waved to him sadly. Luna blew him a kiss. Neville did nothing but stand there, quiet and strong. And Ron had come now. His heartbreak was large on his face and Harry could only look back and shrug, almost helplessly. This is where all his defiance had brought him.

Then Neville called, “We’ll get you out, Harry!”

Luna nodded. “My father can help!”

They all called out to him, all but Ron who seemed to be using all of his strength to offer his best friend a last smile while he held back his tears.

“I love you, Hermione,” Harry managed. “Tell Ron, that, too. And the others.”

“I promise,” she said, her voice strangled; she had given in to her own tears, then. He wished he could comfort her again.

“Let’s go,” Fawley said and Harry took one last look at his friends before the guards escorted him down the corridor and to the elevator.

The Atrium was full of reporters and photographers. Questions were shouted at him as flashes went off again and again; it was all too much. Harry did his best to hold his head high but every instinct was telling him to shrink down. Then they were through the worst of it, to the area cordoned off which only condemned men walked through.

At the edge of his vision, he saw a flash of silver – something that wasn’t a flash bulb, was something human.

Draco. Looking at him wide-eyed. “Harry, I’m sorry. I’m too late and I’m so sorry. Please — don't let them change how you feel about me! Not ever!"

The last sight Harry had before he stepped through the portal to whatever it was that would take him to his hell was of Draco’s face, tear-stained and crumpled as the crowd turned on him, swallowing him up.

Unable to speak, Harry closed his eyes and waited for whatever came next to begin.

~fin


End file.
